Power Struggle
by Read The Subtext
Summary: When I finally emerged from a puddle of lust after seeing 'All That Jazz,' I had to get some of that tension out of my system. Set around the events of 4x09. Cassandra's still riding her students - hard - but is she finally starting to respect Rachel's resilience?
1. Chapter 1

Rachel still doesn't know what she did to provoke Cassandra July's wrath, but as soon as she walks into the dance studio, those icy blue eyes home in on her like a heat-seeking missile.

"Lose the leg-warmers, Schwimmer - unless you want me to start calling you 'Stumpy' instead?"

Rachel bites her lip, knowing it's not wise to react to her instructor's maddening smirk. She usually relishes being the centre of attention, but now she's desperate to slip under the radar. She's tried every tactic she can think of to win this woman over – appealing to her better nature (apparently, she doesn't have one), standing her ground in the face of endless criticism, even playing Miss July at her own game, but her teacher still maps her every move with an expression that vacillates between amusement and disdain. Rachel has always strived to be the best, but right now, she'd settle for the barest hint of approval.

She hastily kicks off her leg-warmers, and then scurries to the nearest corner to start her warm-up routine, trying her best to appear impervious to the weight of her instructor's reproachful gaze. It's bad enough when Miss July watches her from afar, but when she closes the distance between them, Rachel's heart skitters inside her chest and her stomach starts performing the kind of acrobatic feats her body will never be capable of.

She self-consciously undertakes her usual set of stretches, and then eases herself into the side splits, feeling her groin wrench with the strain.

"Schwimmer, it's not a split if there's a gigantic god-damn _gap _between your pelvis and the floor."

Miss July's tone is scathing, and Rachel stifles a gasp when her instructor illustrates her point by wedging a perfectly polished shoe between her legs, flexing her toes against Rachel's crotch, which is hovering barely an inch above the floor.

Blushing furiously, Rachel scrambles to her feet, and her hands feel clammy as she assumes a white-knuckled grip on the barre. She fumbles her way into third position, and tries not to shiver when Miss July reaches for her hips, correcting her posture.

"Class has barely started and you seem awfully... hot and bothered, Schwimmer. Is there a problem?"

Rachel stares dumbly at her teacher, trying to think of an adequate response.

"I'm fine," she says weakly, through gritted teeth. She lowers her foot from the barre, which is set just above waist-height, and then makes a show of wrapping her hand around her calf and extending her leg until her toes are nearly touching her forehead.

"Better," Miss July concedes, although she seems to find the grimace on Rachel's face more than a little satisfying, "But you should really consider investing in some cod liver oil for those decrepit joints of yours. It's like WD-40 for the flexibly-challenged."

She's standing so close, Rachel can feel the warmth of her teacher's breath against the back of her neck, and even the faint whiff of rum can't eclipse the alluring scent of her perfume. Miss July radiates sensuality; from the way she saunters across the studio wielding her cane like a whip, to her risqué choice of leotards, to how she compels the room's attention with a wave of her hand.

Now, she's circling Rachel with all the feral grace of a cougar waiting to pounce on its prey, and this is why Rachel finds it impossible to concentrate in class; why she forgets the steps to routines that she's spent days perfecting. Miss July's proximity is unnerving, and exhilarating, and Rachel doesn't know if she's terrified or turned on.

She dares to meet her teacher's mocking gaze, and suddenly she's floundering, hopping on the spot and blindly reaching for the barre.

Miss July snorts derisively. "Looks like balance isn't your strong suit, either." She points to the floor. "Sit down."

"W-what?" Rachel stammers, and she hates that she sounds every bit as apprehensive as she feels.

Miss July heaves an aggrieved sigh. "Park your perky little ass on the floor, Schwimmer. Now."

Rachel does as she's told, and her eyes widen a little when Miss July reaches out to grasp her foot.

"Lie back and straighten your legs," she commands unceremoniously, and Rachel licks her lips, casting a furtive glance at her classmates, who seem only half-interested in her ritual humiliation.

Reluctantly, she obliges, and she stifles a whimper when Miss July's hand comes to rest against her bare shin.

"Mmm, smooth," she observes, running her fingertips over Rachel's leg with an insidious smile, "Thank God for wax, huh? Otherwise you'd probably look like Sasquatch."

Rachel bites the inside of her cheek, because sometimes the sheer joy this woman takes in taunting her is almost comical.

"Holler if it hurts," Miss July informs her with an unrepentant wink, right before she guides Rachel's left leg towards the ceiling and then pushes it back towards her body. She anchors Rachel's heel against her shoulder, moving closer for better leverage, and Rachel tries not to moan as her teacher settles between her thighs. She knows it isn't perspiration that's dampening her leotard, and she sends up a silent prayer that Miss July won't notice the way her muscles tense reflexively, or the hitch in her breath.

Miss July grasps her knee, forcing it to remain perfectly straight as she uses her body weight to hyper-extend Rachel's leg, pushing it well beyond its natural limitations. Rachel feels a tugging sensation that runs from her calf to her hamstring, but the discomfort is negligible compared to the intoxicating rush that comes from being this close to her dance instructor. For a moment, they're breathing the same air, and Rachel's leg is sandwiched against Miss July's chest, which seems to be rising and falling a lot more rapidly than usual.

"Just say when," Miss July rasps, finally pulling back so she can switch legs. Rachel's eyes dart towards her teacher's face, and she sees a mixture of arousal and amusement in her unapologetic gaze. They resume their earlier position, and Rachel forces herself not to shy away from the challenge in her teacher's eyes, because she knows Miss July gets off on this; that she relishes every second of toying with her emotions and, apparently, her libido. Rachel's done with being the blushing schoolgirl, though, and she isn't about to cry 'Uncle.'

"Push as hard as you want," she says, levelling her teacher with a defiant smile, "I can take it."

Miss July looks taken aback for a moment, but then she starts to laugh.

"Careful what you wish for, Schwimmer."

Rachel can't stop her eyelids from fluttering shut when Miss July's fingernails pointedly rake over her inner thigh, but when she opens them again, her instructor is looming over her, holding out her hand. Rachel hesitates before reaching out to take it, half-expecting Miss July to relinquish her grip and send her sprawling back to the floor. Surprisingly, though, she doesn't. Rachel watches her instructor's biceps flex as she hauls her to her feet, and finds herself more than a little enamoured by her effortless display of strength.

Rachel can tell from the knowing smirk on Miss July's face that she's been caught staring – again – and she knows she has to stop giving her this kind of ammunition. If she's completely honest with herself, though, a twisted part of her is starting to enjoy seeing that predatory twinkle in her teacher's eyes.

* * *

Rachel would never admit it, but sometimes she feels as though she's out of her depth here, treading the hallowed halls of NYADA. It was easy to feel special when she was the Glee Club's shining star; it was easy to believe that her talent was extraordinary when she was surrounded by the likes of Finn and Sugar, but here... here, it's going to take so much more than an emotive solo to stand out from the crowd. Rachel should be loving every moment of this - being surrounded by people who share her passion for performing - but as she watches her classmates move with the kind of grace and fluidity she's still struggling to master, as she listens to their well-conditioned voices ring every bit as true as her own, she realises that perhaps, she isn't one-of-a-kind, after all.

It doesn't help that Miss July seems determined to crush her self-confidence beneath her 4-inch stilettos. She tells Rachel that she's devoid of sex appeal, that she doesn't have what it takes to succeed in the industry, and there are times when Rachel almost believes her. Then she remembers what she endured to make it here in the first place, how her self-belief saw her through high school and years of ridicule, and she won't let herself give up. If she has to work harder than everyone else to ensure that she's not destined for mediocrity, then so be it.

She tells herself that Miss July is only trying to hinder her progress because she's jealous of her potential; that her antipathy doesn't stem from Rachel's inadequacies, but her own. All Miss July has to cling to is a fleeting moment of notoriety, whereas Rachel has the ability to achieve what her teacher never could. Pitying Miss July makes withstanding her scrutiny a lot easier, and Rachel's determined to keep on pirouetting her way through the constant barrage of insults. Still, as much as she tries to convince herself that Cassandra July is the product of broken dreams and missed opportunities - that she's so bitter and pathetic she can't make it through the day without drowning her sorrows in a vat of alcohol – Rachel can't deny that her teacher is one of the best dancers she's ever seen. Miss July has the kind of stage presence that can't be taught - the kind that makes her utterly mesmerising to watch - and Rachel could learn so much from her, if only she was invested in building her up instead of bashing her down.

Rachel's immeasurably grateful that Miss July seems to be the only teacher who's immune to her talents, though. Receiving one of Miss Tibideaux's coveted Golden Tickets gives her a much-needed boost, and Rachel can't help but feel a little smug as she enters the dance studio - smug enough to walk away from Miss July when she sidles over to her, sporting that all-too-familiar sneer; smug enough to answer back when Cassandra tries to make an example of her in front of the class. She knows she's on probation, but when Miss July challenges her to a dance-off and invites her to prove how good she's become - clearly expecting her to back down - Rachel decides to step up to the plate and come out swinging.

There's an almost dangerous intensity in Miss July's eyes as she crosses the room, glowering at Rachel over her shoulder, and Rachel feels a rush of adrenaline spiking through her veins as she hears the jaunty opening chords of 'All That Jazz.' It's a song she perfected in grade school, and she decides to catch Miss July off guard by taking the initiative, sauntering her way into the middle of the room.

She opens her mouth to sing the opening line, but Miss July beats her to it, shooting her a sultry look that makes it clear this performance is solely for her. Rachel's stomach clenches with anticipation, but she chokes out a laugh, hoping that her blasé reaction will go some way to hiding her embarrassment. She knows all too well what it feels like to be on the receiving end of her teacher's unabashed sexuality, but she isn't going to cower in the corner with her mouth agape this time, she's going to try and emulate it.

She watches the provocative placement of Miss July's hands and the seamless undulations of her hips as she belts out the first verse of the song, and it takes all of Rachel's acting skills to feign indifference when Miss July sinks to her knees, arching into the floor and eyeing her suggestively. Rachel's resolve slips even further when her teacher rolls into a mid-air split, giving Rachel a deliberate and unprecedented view of her crotch.

Rachel bites her lip, digging her nails into the palm of her hand, and tries to drag her eyes away from the captivating spectacle playing out before her. She knows she can't compete with this, so she decides to embark on another mission to prove that - while she may lack her instructor's natural pizazz – she still knows how to work a crowd.

When her turn rolls around, Rachel gyrates against the barre like an oversexed pole dancer, trying to match Miss July's finesse with carnal passion. If the look on her teacher's face is any indication, it's having the desired affect, and Rachel suddenly finds herself struggling to remember lyrics that have been ingrained in her subconscious for years. Miss July's eyes rake over her body and, for once, they're not remotely critical. Rachel impulsively grabs the nearest girl by the hips, hoping to provoke a reaction, and feels giddy when she sees the desire written plainly across her teacher's face.

"_Find a glass, we're playing fast and loose. And all that jazz," _Miss July sings in her melodic alto, and Rachel decides to capitalise on a golden opportunity.

"_Right up here is where I __**store the juice,**__ and all that jazz," _she counters, throwing a sly look in Miss July's direction as she mimics downing a shot.

Miss July's eyes narrow, and she stumbles to her feet with a little less grace than usual. Rachel feels almost dizzy with triumph, until her teacher sneaks up behind her and wraps an arm around her waist, propelling her across the floor at a break-neck pace. Rachel loses all sense of rhythm as the warmth of Miss July's hands seep through her leotard; she's still stuck on the implications of her teacher grabbing her at the exact same moment she started singing, "_come on, babe, we're gonna brush the sky..."_

Miss July spins her in and out of hold, and Rachel teeters precariously on her now decidedly wobbly legs. She stops moving altogether when Miss July performs a high-kick inches away from her face, because Rachel can practically _smell _her now. It's heady and distracting and, at this point, Rachel knows she's lost the war. To add insult to injury, Miss July rounds off a perfect turn by falling into her arms, and Rachel has no choice but to support her, feeling her cheeks burn as her hands settle against the underside of Miss July's breasts.

She's virtually vibrating with need by the time Miss July pulls away from her, but being inadvertently groped doesn't seem to have fazed her teacher at all. With the aid of some male students, Cassandra proceeds to pull off a move that demonstrates the kind of skill and flexibility Rachel can only dream of possessing.

The only weapon Rachel has left at her disposal is her voice, and as they circle each other for the grand finale, she uses it to her full advantage, drowning out Miss July with the sheer power of her vocal range. She still can't help but notice how well their contrasting tones blend together, though, and Cassandra makes a valiant effort to match her note-for-note. When they finish, Miss July is practically panting, and the look on her face is so far beyond propriety, Rachel finds herself rooted to the spot, torn between apprehension and arousal. For a moment, she actually thinks Miss July is going to kiss her - right there, in full view of everyone. Well, either that, or slap her silly.

She's almost disappointed when Miss July rapidly regains her composure and, within a matter of moments, goes back to critiquing her performance. Rachel isn't going to let this woman cow her into submission anymore, though, not when she knows she has the capacity to get under her skin, too. She may not have triumphed in their battle of wills, but she put up a damn good fight, and she can see that her resilience is starting to unsettle her teacher. Cassandra July isn't used to her students standing toe-to-toe with her and meeting her blow-for-blow, and Rachel wonders if she's imagining the burgeoning sense of respect that's starting to peep through her teacher's scornful bravado.

She walks out of the room with Miss July's words ringing in her ears: "_you're not good enough... __**yet.**__"_

* * *

That night, Rachel performs a soaring rendition of 'Being Good Isn't Good Enough,' frantically scanning the crowd in the hopes of seeing Miss July's reaction. She's singing it to spite her, she's singing it to prove a point, but she finally resigns herself to the fact that her dance instructor isn't there to see it, and she'll have to abandon her plans to belt out "_I'll be the best" _while gazing directly into Cassandra's impassive blue eyes. Swallowing her disappointment, Rachel gives herself over to the music and becomes lost in the performance, but even the thunderous standing ovation that follows doesn't provide her with enough sustenance to cushion the blow. She tells herself that she's crying because she's happy, but the acclaim isn't really helping to assuage the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

When Kurt finally wins his hard-earned place at NYADA, it's enough to snap her out of her melancholy mood, but her beaming smile starts to falter when she sees a mane of silky blonde hair and impossibly long legs disappear through an exit at the back of the room.

Kurt looks somewhat perplexed when she squeezes his arm, plants a kiss on his cheek, and then takes off at a full-blown sprint.

"Miss July! You came!" she exclaims breathlessly, stopping in her tracks when she sees the stunning red cocktail dress that her teacher's wearing. Rachel doesn't know where to look first; the plunging neckline that's affording her a breath-taking view of her instructor's cleavage – the one part of Miss July's flawless physique she isn't already intimately acquainted with - or the provocative slit that stops just below her teacher's perfectly toned derrière.

"You look beautiful," Rachel blurts out, a little too earnestly, and Miss July's lips twitch with amusement.

"It's a faculty event, I figured I'd better show my face. I didn't come here to see _you, _Schwimmer, if that's what you're implying," she informs her acerbically.

"But you did - you saw me, right?" Rachel asks, wincing at the eagerness in her own voice.

There's a flicker of something inscrutable on Miss July's face, and then she leans close, prompting Rachel to await her teacher's verdict with bated breath.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you look constipated when you sing? The faces you were pulling up there... Jesus Christ, Schwimmer, it was almost enough to make me see the merits of botox."

Rachel feels winded; like she's been punched in the stomach, and she can't stop her face from crumpling. She turns on her heel so Miss July won't see that she's finally succeeded in breaking her, and hopes the sound of her defeated sniffle won't carry across the space between them.

When a dainty hand reaches out to clasp her shoulder, Rachel frantically swipes at her eyes.

"I'm not going to let you ruin this for me," she asserts in a tremulous tone, shrinking away from her teacher's touch, but Miss July pulls her close, until Rachel's back is sandwiched against her chest.

"You didn't let me finish," she murmurs into Rachel's hair, and Rachel's knees come close to buckling when she feels her teacher's lips graze the shell of her ear; when she feels Cassandra's breasts pressing against her back.

"What?" she demands, turning to face Miss July with as much dignity as she can muster.

"Aside from all the... gurning..." Miss July's features relax into what looks suspiciously like a smile, "Not bad, Schwimmer. Not bad at all. You left Alexandra Blasucci in the dust."

Rachel turns puppy-dog eyes in her teacher's direction, hardly daring to hope. "Really?" she beseeches, and it kills her to know that she can walk away from an auditorium full of accolades and still crave this woman's validation.

"Don't make me say it again," Miss July says sharply, but then her expression visibly softens. "Come here," she murmurs, beckoning Rachel closer, and Rachel's breath hitches when her teacher reaches out to gently wipe away her tears.

"You look like a panda, Schwimmer," she observes, and Rachel holds perfectly still while Miss July smooths away her smudged mascara, licking her thumb to chase away the more persistent blotches.

Rachel stares at her for a moment, astounded that her teacher has the capacity for this kind of tenderness, and she wonders why it has an even more potent affect on her than being leered at from across the room. Rachel briefly meets Miss July's attentive gaze, and then her attention falls on her teacher's rouged lips. She realises then, that she's seconds away from throwing herself to the wolves, but Miss July steps back before she has the chance to close the distance between them.

"That housemate of yours put on quite a show, too," she observes, and Rachel hears the way her voice catches before she clears her throat. "Tell him I can't _wait _to see him in my class. After all, any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Schwimmer."

The devilish glint is back in her teacher's eyes, and Rachel's mouth goes dry when Miss July winks at her, turning to leave. Rachel watches her walk away, uncomfortably aware of the ache between her thighs, and realises that this stupid crush of hers just became something so much more than she's equipped to handle.


	2. Chapter 2

Revelling in the knowledge that Miss July hasn't completely forsaken her humanity, Rachel sends a hesitant smile in her teacher's direction when she enters the dance studio on Monday morning. After the events of last week, she's hoping that they might have forged a tenuous connection, but Miss July promptly shatters that illusion by pursing her lips and turning away from her. Rachel studies the smooth planes of her teacher's back; the poised set of her shoulders, and then realises that she's standing alone in the middle of the room. Shaking her head in a futile attempt to dispel her wayward thoughts, she rushes to join the others at the barre.

When Frankie Cappelli offers her a welcoming nod, Rachel actually glances behind her to make sure that she's the intended recipient, and her heart soars when a few more tentative smiles are thrown her way. Her classmates usually avoid her like the plague - Rachel suspects it's because they don't want Miss July to see them being nice to someone she actively despises – but today, their frosty demeanours seem to have thawed a little. Maybe she won't have to wait for Kurt to join their class in order to find a willing partner, after all.

They begin by performing a lyrical adagio, and when Miss July refrains from commenting on her technique for a whole fifteen minutes, Rachel takes it as a sign of good things to come. There's a bounce in her step and a smile on her face as she launches herself into a pas de chat, and Nathan Ruscoe glances over his shoulder before giving her an encouraging thumbs-up.

"Nice work last week," he compliments her, in a barely audible whisper, "You sure gave Cruella a run for her money."

Rachel beams at him, silently conveying her gratitude.

"I heard you killed it at the showcase, too. Jared said Miss Tibideaux was practically creaming her pants."

Rachel tries not to pull a face at his choice of words. "Well, she did seem to... enjoy my performance," she hesitantly concurs.

"Jesus Christ, Schwimmer, your ego really is big enough to survive Armageddon."

Rachel can't stop herself from breaking form when she realises that Miss July has stealthily crept up behind them, and Nathan guiltily snaps back to attention, evading her gaze.

"Miss July! Hi!" Rachel enthuses, searching for the barest hint of affection in her instructor's steely gaze.

"Hi!" Miss July mocks, doing a perfect imitation of a peppy cheerleader. Seeing Rachel's crestfallen expression, she snorts in amusement. "What? You thought I was going to go easy on you after your little meltdown the other night?"

"_YES!"_ Rachel wants to scream, but she's given up trying to understand how this woman's mind works.

"You were there," Rachel reminds her teacher, "You saw how good I was; you heard the audience's reaction. You _told_ me - "

"Oh, sweetie, I pay you one compliment and you suddenly think I'm invested in your future? That I'm your biggest fan?" Cassandra cuts her off, levelling her with a condescending smile, "You might be able to hold a tune, Schwimmer, but your dancing still sucks, and there's a big difference between acting and chewing the scenery."

Rachel chokes back an indignant sputter and then opens her mouth to protest, but Miss July holds up a finger to forestall her objections.

"All I'm saying is that you have to be a triple threat to make it in this business and, at the moment, you're just a glorified chorus girl."

Miss July's tone is benign enough – like her words are intended to be informative instead of soul-destroying – but Rachel knows she's trying to sew the seeds of doubt. Her better judgement tells her not to react, but if she keeps quiet and refuses to take the bait, she knows Miss July will just carry on goading her until she does. She's learnt the hard way that standing up for herself comes with a hefty price, too – it just antagonises her teacher even more – so the only defence she has left is indifference.

"Oh, so you're _shrugging_ at me now?" Miss July observes, with a bark of incredulous laughter. "_'I'm barely scraping by in this class, but, oh well, whatever.' _That's a great attitude to have, Schwimmer. Really."

Miss July's sardonic tone finally pushes Rachel over the edge.

"Will you please tell me what I have to do to GET YOU OFF MY CASE?" she explodes, barely noticing when everyone whirls around to watch their latest confrontation unfold. "Because I am _trying_, OK? I practice for hours every night and I have the calluses on my feet to prove it."

Miss July sticks out her bottom lip, pouting like a petulant toddler. "My heart bleeds for you, Schwimmer, it really does. Someone, break out the violins," she proclaims, throwing her arms into the air with exaggerated gusto.

Undeterred by her classmates' sniggers, Rachel squares her shoulders and stands to her full height, regarding her teacher obstinately.

"I know I'm not the best dancer in this class..."

"No shit, Schwimmer."

Seeing Miss July's affirmative smirk, Rachel's hands fly to her hips, and for a moment, her outrage outweighs everything else.

"...But I'm not the worst, either, so why do you keep making me the butt of your jokes?"

"You're not the victim here," Miss July reminds her, "The _real_ victims are the poor bastards you expect to part with their hard-earned cash to see you perform."

"So how about you stop telling me how hopeless I am and actually **teach** me something?" Rachel counters, in a tone that's shaking with barely-suppressed anger, "I mean, that is what you're paid for, right? To help us improve? Or do you _want_ to see me fail?

For a second, Rachel thinks her words might have hit home. There's a fleeting moment of self-awareness in Miss July's eyes, and the biting retort seems to die on her lips. Rachel gets a glimpse of the jaded, washed-up Cassandra July; the woman who realises that she's been reduced to making her students suffer as much as she did when her promising career was cut short long before its time. The stricken look on her teacher's face makes something inside of her ache, but then Miss July leans towards her, lowering her voice until it's little more than a savage whisper.

"You're treading on thin ice, Schwimmer," she warns her, and Rachel's stomach is churning so violently, she knows she has to get out of the room before she gives Miss July the satisfaction of seeing her cry - again.

"I was so... thrilled when I found out that you were going to be my instructor, Miss July," she informs her, sombrely, "But you've made it more than clear that I have nothing to learn from you."

Rachel juts out her chin defiantly when she delivers her parting shot, barely managing to keep her voice from breaking, and then she makes a beeline for the door.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, Schwimmer?"

Cassandra grips Rachel's forearm so tightly, it's almost painful.

"You're going to kick me out anyway, right?" Rachel asks with a half-hysterical laugh, but she can't bring herself to meet her teacher's unrelenting gaze when the magnitude of what she's just done rains down on her like an avalanche.

She starts mentally rehearsing her speech to Miss Tibideaux, trying to justify the rationale behind her latest outburst: she's not a trouble-maker - she doesn't have an insubordinate bone in her body - but Miss July has been bullying her for weeks; mercilessly pushing her to breaking point. She doesn't want to cause any conflict – being here is a dream come true – but it's supposed to be a school, not a boot-camp.

"You can stay," Cassandra informs her in a clipped tone, and Rachel's so worked up, it takes a moment for the words to register. When they do, she stares at her teacher uncomprehendingly, looking every bit as shocked as her classmates.

"Rachel," Cassandra reiterates softly, "You can stay. But if you ever speak to me like that again - "

Rachel nods her understanding, and her chin starts to tremble when she hears her given name rolling off her teacher's lips. She ducks her head, and Miss July hesitantly releases her arm, letting her hand run over Rachel's wrist in what feels like an apologetic caress.

"Now get back to work."

Their heated exchange leaves Rachel physically shaking, and her pique turns are even sloppier than usual. She knows she's butchering the routine, and she keeps waiting for Miss July to rip her to shreds, but the criticism never comes - even though, this time, it's warranted. Cassandra barely glances in her direction, and suddenly being inconspicuous doesn't feel like such a blessing, after all. Miss July offers a few half-hearted corrections to her classmates, but it's obvious that her mind is elsewhere, and Rachel watches as her teacher listlessly makes her way to the back of the room.

Cassandra reaches for her canteen, chugging back its contents in a few hasty gulps, and Rachel sees the way she grimaces a little at the after-taste. It doesn't take a genius to deduce that she's not drinking water, and Rachel swallows around the lump in her throat when Miss July casts a surreptitious glance in her direction, clearly not expecting to find Rachel staring at her. Their eyes lock, and for a moment, the devil-may-care spark is back in Cassandra's gaze, like she's daring Rachel to say something, but then she looks away, and Rachel wonders if she's imagining the shame and self-loathing that briefly cloud her instructor's features.

When they have to partner up, Rachel realises how fleeting popularity can be. She's the last girl to be picked, as per usual, and Simon Marsh approaches her with all the enthusiasm of an inmate about to take his last walk along death row. Rachel tries to concentrate on mastering their new routine, but she knows she's in trouble as soon as she comes out of a badly-executed lift. She can feel her partner's hand trembling against her hip, straining with the effort of keeping her upright. She manages to spot her landing and find her footing seconds before she collides with the floor, but Simon isn't so lucky. Her floundering knocks him off-balance and sends him reeling backwards. He hits the wood with a resounding thud, and Rachel knows his coccyx must have borne the brunt of the impact.

"Oh my God, Simon, I'm so sorry!" she exclaims, crouching down besides him and worriedly clutching his shoulder. "Are you OK?"

"Get your sweaty man-hands away from me, Berry!" he yells, forcibly rejecting her attempts to help him up. "Miss July's right. You're a walking disaster."

Rachel hastily backs away from him, barely clinging to her composure, and her eyes widen when the subject of their conversation jogs over to them, jabbing her cane against Simon's chest to prevent him from clambering to his feet.

"Hey, Simple Simon, I'm the one who dishes out the criticism in this class, OK?"

"Yeah, and we all know you think Berry's a waste of space," Simon points out, looking flummoxed by her anger.

Rachel stares at the floor, too mortified to meet her teacher's gaze when Cassandra's hand comes to rest against the small of her back.

"Did it ever occur to you that your puny little arms might be the problem?" Miss July asks, turning her attention back to Simon. "In fact, I'll tell you what; how about you get the hell out of my class and spend the rest of the day in the gym?"

"But - " Simon looks at Miss July in faintly-veiled disbelief, and her saccharine smile quickly turns into an icy glare.

"That's what's known as a _rhetorical_ question, Simon."

"Fine," he huffs, stomping over to the corner to grab his gym bag. Throwing a murderous look in Rachel's direction, he stalks across the studio, and Rachel flinches when the door slams shut behind him.

"Thank you," she whispers, turning to face Miss July with eyes that are brimming with gratitude. Her heart's thudding erratically against her chest as she tries to process the implications of her teacher leaping to her defence, but her awe-struck look doesn't last for long.

"Don't thank me," Miss July hastily interjects, "Because he's right. Dumbo was more aerodynamic than you."

Rachel doesn't know whether to feel affronted, or relieved that her teacher seems to have reclaimed some semblance of her warped personality.

"Well, a flying elephant's a step-up from a platypus," she mutters under her breath, and Miss July raises her eyebrows.

"Oh, I forgot. I'm supposed to be..." she fumbles for the right word, "_Constructive_ in my criticism now, right?" she concludes, and Rachel can't help but roll her eyes at the woman's obnoxiousness.

"You _know_ it drives me crazy when you do that, Schwimmer," Miss July observes, regarding Rachel with wry amusement, "But that's why you keep on doing it, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rachel demurs, shooting Miss July her best butter-wouldn't-melt smile.

Miss July's lips twitch, and she shakes her head, clapping her hands to get the class' attention.

"OK, can someone get the stereo and then we'll take it from the top?" she yells, beckoning to Rachel. "Seems as though you broke your last partner, I guess you'll have to make do with me."

"Maybe... maybe I should just sit this one out?" Rachel ventures, and Miss July closes the distance between them, reaching for Rachel's hand.

"Not a chance, Schwimmer. Besides, I thought you wanted the benefit of my expertise?" she teases, and Rachel lowers her gaze, feeling her stomach plummet to her knees in anticipation of the impending ridicule.

Miss July positions Rachel's hand against her shoulder, and her fingers seem to linger there for a fraction too long. Then she pulls back a little, making some minor adjustments to Rachel's stance.

"OK, here," Miss July says, cupping Rachel's chin with the crook of her finger and angling her head until it's tilted to the side. "Look, I know you try, Schwimmer - but that's your problem. You try _too hard_. You look like you're faking it, like you're _forcing_ it, when dancing should be as natural as breathing."

Rachel's breathing doesn't feel very natural at the moment. Miss July's wearing an off-the-shoulder leotard, and Rachel's hand is resting against her bare (and oh-so-soft) skin. Her fingers twitch, itching to explore further, and it takes all of her willpower not to. To top it all off, Miss July's being disconcertingly nice to her. Her tone is controlled - reasonable, even - and what she's saying actually makes sense.

"You need to keep your arms locked, and your shoulders back. Don't let your elbow drop," Miss July advises, reaching for Rachel's other hand and easing her into a closed position. Rachel licks her lips when her teacher's hand comes to rest lightly against the middle of her back, but she instinctively shies away when Miss July sandwiches their hips together.

Cassandra sighs, betraying the first signs of irritation.

"It's called 'being in hold' for a reason, Schwimmer. I'm not trying to hump your leg."

Rachel's grateful that her head is turned to the side, so Miss July can't see the blush that's starting to flourish on her overheated cheeks. She edges closer, and her pulse starts throbbing when their pelvises seamlessly mesh together.

"OK, remember to centre yourself, and then follow my lead," Miss July commands, gesturing to the stereo system. "Can I get some music, please?"

Miss July waits for the orchestral symphony to build, and then starts spinning Rachel around the floor in sweeping circles. She starts off slowly, letting Rachel stumble after her until she gets a feel for the steps, and all Rachel can do is concentrate on trying not to make a fool of herself. She doesn't want this to be a repeat of their previous performance, when Miss July's proximity turned her legs to jelly and her brain to mush, but it's hard to think when she's inhaling the fruity fragrance of her teacher's shampoo; when she can feel the deftness behind Cassandra's delicate touch. Miss July's breath is washing over her cheek in hot spurts and, this time, Rachel knows that faint-but-unmistakeable smell definitely _isn't_ Listerine.

Making her lines as graceful as possible, Rachel performs a set of balletic turns, trying not to over-rotate as she spins in and out of Miss July's arms. She keeps her grip loose so it doesn't look – or feel - like she's holding on for dear life, even though it's hard to keep up with her teacher's flawless technique. She focuses on recalling the intricate footwork instead of fixating on the way their hands are clasped together, but she has to clamp down on the jolt of awareness that races down her spine and settles in the pit of her stomach every time their hips collide. It's a minor miracle that she manages to retain her balance as she _chassés_ back into hold, and her eyelids flutter shut as they resume their earlier position; far too close for comfort.

Rachel's starting to feel proud of herself for keeping it together – she even remembers to turn her head when they move past the corner of the room – but then Miss July switches her leading foot, edging her thigh between Rachel's legs to move them in a counter-clockwise direction, and Rachel's veneer of control crumbles. She gasps at the sensation of Miss July pressing up against her, and comes to a crashing halt. Cassandra has to pull her aside so they don't collide with the other couples.

"Sorry," she mumbles, and Miss July leans towards her, until her lips are level with Rachel's ear.

"You need to get laid, Schwimmer," she says, quietly enough so that only Rachel can hear her. "Maybe it'll loosen you up a bit. And, believe me, there are better choices than that big lug, Brody. The package isn't as good as the wrapping, if you get my drift?"

Rachel gapes at her teacher, shocked by her audacity.

"You're drunk," she hisses, because she doesn't know how else to respond.

"Oh, no, sweetie, I'm just getting limbered up." Cassandra executes a perfect fouette alongside the rest of the class, and then adds a few more for good measure, shooting a smug look in Rachel's direction.

Rachel knows it's intended to annoy her, but she can't help but be impressed. Miss July can do things when she's inebriated that Rachel would struggle to master if she was stone-cold sober, and it's a tragic testimony to her teacher's wasted talent that her students think she's stolen most of her moves from The Pussycat Dolls. Miss July just proved that she could pass for a classically-trained ballet dancer, and Rachel wonders why she's let herself become a cautionary tale.

"Come here, Schwimmer," Miss July commands, holding out her hand. "I haven't finished with you yet."

Rachel's hands ball into fists, but she wills herself not to give Miss July the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

"OK, now, stop looking down at your feet," Miss July orders, "Stop thinking about what comes next, stop trying to impress me, and concentrate on living in the moment," she says, and Rachel barely has time to breathe before she's being propelled back onto the dance floor.

Miss July's hands fall to her hips as she guides her through a grand _jeté,_ and Rachel once again marvels at her instructor's deceptive strength.

"You need more height. Your front leg's coming down before your back leg's fully extended. Try and straighten it out."

Rachel nods, and then breaks formation with the rest of the class to try it again, feeling the difference almost immediately.

"Better." Miss July nods her approval, pulling her back into hold.

"OK, Schwimmer, I've seen you sing, so I know you're not completely immune to the effects of music, but this time, instead of getting lost in the lyrics, I want you to get lost in the beat. Don't just go through the motions, _live_ it, _feel_ it," she urges, and then she starts spinning Rachel around the floor so quickly, Rachel has no choice but to stop fighting for control. Relying more on instinct than technique, she relaxes into the hold and gives herself over to Cassandra completely, until they're moving in effortless synch. Rachel starts to smile, and then soon she's laughing out loud, because as clichéd as it sounds, it really does feel like she's flying weightlessly across the floor.

"Now _that's_ what I'm talking about," Miss July breathlessly proclaims, spinning out of Rachel's grasp and performing an exaggerated curtsey. She's smiling, too – a genuine, captivating smile that makes her look like the girl-next-door instead of a cynical, hot mess - and Rachel wonders if this is how Maria felt after dancing The Ländler with Captain Von Trapp; flushed and giddy and filled with anticipation.

"OK, now I want you to try that lift again," Miss July demands, instantly bursting Rachel's bubble.

Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but Miss July shakes her head, gesturing for Nathan to come over to them.

"Schwimmer, don't think about it, just do it. Imagine you're Dumbo after - I don't know - a few cans of Red Bull or something."

Rachel giggles in spite of herself, and then takes a deep breath, launching herself into Nathan's arms. She feels more secure this time around, and doesn't falter as he hoists her into the air, supporting her frame as she unfolds into a graceful arabesque. Nathan grips her extended leg and anchors his other hand against her hip, angling Rachel's head towards the floor, and she feels safe enough to maintain her position instead of trying to disengage from him prematurely. She nails her landing, and Nathan's none the worse for wear.

"Houston, we have lift-off," Miss July exclaims, pumping her fist to punctuate the statement. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, Schwimmer."

Rachel breaks into a beaming smile, and her heart feels like it's going to burst out of her chest.

"And maybe you're not such a terrible teacher, after all," she readily admits. Seeing the conflicted emotions on Cassandra's face, she rushes to soften her words with a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Miss July looks like she's poised to say something disparaging, but then she closes her mouth again.

"You're welcome," she mutters, almost self-consciously, and then she reaches out, brushing Rachel's hair away from her face. She fluffs it up until it's cascading over her shoulders, and then moves to deftly adjust the straps of Rachel's leotard.

"Now we just have to work on your sex appeal," she notes with a wicked grin, and Rachel swallows audibly, feeling powerless all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

Cassie knows she looks good; she's wearing killer heels and a cream-coloured pant-suit that's tailored to fit her in all the right places. She keeps the jacket unbuttoned so people can get an eyeful of her chemise, which offers a tantalising glimpse of black lace and cleavage, and her hair's just the right side of tousled. Still, it doesn't hurt to get a little affirmation, and when Schwimmer's nervous pacing grinds to an abrupt halt so she can stop and gawk at her from across the street, Cassie can't help but smile. Her amusement quickly fades when Rachel lights up like a Christmas tree and starts waving at her enthusiastically, though.

Cassie rolls her eyes skyward when she sees what Schwimmer's wearing; a pleated leather skirt that's far too short to weather the biting cold, tights that wouldn't look out of place on a grade-schooler, and an off-the-shoulder sweater that's like some macabre homage to 'Flashdance.' Cassie sees the black straps running across Rachel's shoulders and she knows – she just _knows _– that Schwimmer's wearing some kind of obscene, 'Oops I Did It Again' basque under there, because she's the kind of small-town girl who thinks sex appeal can be found in a Victoria's Secret catalogue.

As Cassie weaves her way through the crowd and edges closer to her quarry, she gets her first glimpse of Schwimmer's trowelled-on make-up. She's all smoky eye shadow, clumpy mascara, and bright red lipstick. She's a hair's breadth away from looking like a baby hooker, and Cassie figures Rachel's flamboyant little friend must have been working late tonight, because there's no way in hell any self-respecting homo would let her leave the house looking like that.

"Forget Broadway, Schwimmer; you could have a career in drag," she says, by way of greeting.

Cassie watches Rachel's earnest little face crumple with disappointment, and realises that she probably spent hours in front of the mirror trying to find the "perfect" outfit. She may have failed miserably, but Cassie still feels a tad guilty for raining on her parade. It's enough to stop her from commenting on the fact that Schwimmer's walking like a constipated flamingo in her ridiculously high heels.

"Follow me," she says, gesturing for Rachel to accompany her down a seemingly derelict alleyway.

As they round the corner, the faint strains of Flo Rida's 'Low' waft over to them, and Cassie can't resist swinging her hips to the beat as she slinks her way towards the club. It takes her a moment to realise that Schwimmer's no-where to be seen, and she sighs, turning around with an expression that does nothing to hide her exasperation. She catches Schwimmer ogling her ass from a few yards away, and tries not to snort when Rachel does an award-winning impersonation of a rabbit-caught-in-headlights.

"You're taking me to a club?" Rachel asks, all wide-eyed and innocent, and Cassie can't tell if she sounds thrilled or appalled.

"Of sorts," Cassie agrees, and she has to bite her cheek to keep from grinning, because she cannot fucking _wait_ to see Schwimmer's face when she sees what's on the other side of that door.

"I just... I didn't bring my fake ID," Schwimmer confesses in a stage-whisper, as though the bouncer standing fifteen metres away from them might be able to hear her over the pounding bass.

"Really, Schwimmer?" Cassie buries her face in her hands, taking a deep breath. "OK, here's a little piece of advice. If you want to work on your sex-appeal, whining about being under-age isn't the best place to start."

"I'm not whining!" Rachel assures her, "I just..."

Cassie doesn't give her a chance to finish. She strolls over to Rachel, grabs her by the hand, and practically frog-marches her towards the door.

"Don't worry, I'll get you home before midnight. Wouldn't want you turning into a pumpkin," she mutters, before sending a mega-watt smile in the bouncer's direction.

"Hey, Tony," she drawls, standing on her tiptoes to kiss the burly doorman on the cheek. "This one's with me, OK?"

She casually loops an arm around Rachel's shoulders to emphasise her point, and nearly chokes on her own spit when Schwimmer inches an arm around her waist, beaming up at her with a radiant smile. For one terrifying moment, she looks like a lovestruck teenager, and Cassie doesn't know whether to find it cute, or nauseating.

Tony, as she suspects, barely bats an eyelid. "Have fun, ladies," he says, opening the door for them, and Cassie ushers Rachel inside.

Rachel shoots her a questioning glance as they walk through a dimly-lit corridor, and Cassie gives her an encouraging nod, gesturing to the adjacent door. Her shoulders are already shaking with repressed mirth, and she presses her knuckles to her mouth, waiting for the inevitable -

"Is this some kind of joke?" Rachel demands, and she looks so scandalised, it takes Cassie several seconds to stop cackling with laughter and actually answer her.

"Come on, Schwimmer, the place is called 'Punani,' what did you expect? I mean, you wanted to learn how to be sexy, right?" she reasons, gesturing to the women who are gyrating in various states of undress on stage, "Well, look no further."

"This isn't sexy, it's degrading," Rachel asserts, and her eyes are already darting towards the door. She turns her back to the stage, and Cassie can see how ill at ease she is.

She wonders if Schwimmer will be this principled when landing a starring role is contingent on her fucking the casting director; or if she'll be this much of a prude when she's asked to strip down to her underwear during an audition. Cassie remembers her cast-mates snorting lines of coke at parties and throwing orgies on opening night, and the thought of Schwimmer being exposed to that - in all of her naivety - is kind of hilarious and heart-breaking at the same time. The least she can do is open her eyes a bit.

"Look, it's not about the fact that they're taking off their clothes, OK?" she hastens to explain, "It's about the fact that these women are completely comfortable in their own skin; that they're owning their sexuality; that they're confident enough to lay themselves bare in front of an audience."

"I'd rather model myself on Barbra Streisand than take pointers from Pamela Anderson," Rachel retorts, and Cassie smiles wryly.

"So when you turned up in that slutty little outfit and started dry-humping the tables in my studio, that was - what? Classy? Refined?"

Rachel ducks her head to hide her blush, and Cassie adds a point to her imaginary scorecard.

"You think you know what it takes to be sexy, Schwimmer, but you're too inhibited, too self-conscious, too invested in what other people think. These women - they're hot and they don't give a fuck. And the fact that you can't even look at them? What do you think that says about you? Maybe you were a preacher's daughter in another life," she jokes, but Rachel isn't laughing.

"Being groped and leered at isn't empowering," she heatedly asserts, "Those men down there; they don't see those women as people, or performers. They see them as objects."

"And because they think with their dicks instead of their brains, they're willing to part with obscene amounts of money for a few cheap thrills. So why not play them at their own game and exploit them for all they're worth? These women probably make more in a week than I do in a month," Cassie acknowledges ruefully.

"But at least you still have your dignity," Rachel notes, and Cassie guffaws with laughter.

"Well, that's debatable," she confesses, with a sly wink.

Schwimmer doesn't even crack a smile, leaving Cassie to conclude that she doesn't just have a stick wedged up her ass, she has an entire fucking tree. She gestures to the bar, hoping to loosen Schwimmer up the good, old-fashioned way.

"What do you want to drink?"

"I'm not... I'm not staying here," Rachel asserts, and Cassie glances towards the ceiling, muttering _"for fuck's sake"_ under her breath.

"They're just tits, Schwimmer. If you look real hard, I'm pretty sure you'll find you have a pair all of your own." She tugs on the v-neck of Rachel's sweater, peering down her top, "Yep, there you go!" she exclaims triumphantly, and Rachel pulls away from her, looking flustered.

"OK, fine, go home," Cassie says with a nonchalant shrug, because she isn't going to expend any more effort on trying to persuade Mother Teresa to stay. "I'm going to start a tab and enjoy the show."

She walks away without looking back, flopping onto one of the black leather couches that's set apart from the stage, and smiles up at the waitress who approaches her. After ordering a bottle of tequila, she turns her attention to the floor show, wiggling her fingers at the striking brunette who's already grinning at her while she undulates suggestively to Kevin Lyttle's 'Turn Me On.' Cassie pretends to fan herself when she becomes the sole focus of Joanne's attention, and watches in amusement as her friend shamelessly spreads her legs and grinds her way down to the floor.

_'So let me hold you_

_Girl caress my body_

_You got me going crazy_

_You turn me on, turn me on...'_

Joanne points at Cassie while she mouths the lyrics, moving seductively to the beat, and Cassie flips her the finger, grinning. Joanne retaliates by slowly peeling off her bra, throwing it into Cassie's lap, and Cassie makes a show of picking it up and clutching it to her chest. Ignoring the pissed-off looks from the men around her, she spends the rest of the set trying to throw her friend off her game, pulling faces, feigning boredom, and shooting appreciative looks at the other women. When her bottle of tequila finally arrives, she raises her shot glass in Joanne's direction, and then proceeds to down the liquor in one fell swoop.

When the song's finally over, Joanne doesn't waste any time in leaping off the stage and onto the sofa, tackle-hugging Cassie in all of her bare-breasted glory.

"Long time, no see, asshole," she shouts over the din of the music, and Cassie slaps her companionably on the thigh.

"Well, you know, I'm a grown-up now. I have to spend my evenings coming up with new ways to torture my students," she yells back, regretfully.

"Those poor kids." Joanne cackles with laughter, ruffling Cassie's hair as she moves to sit on her knee. "Well, you look great."

Cassie snakes an arm around her friend's waist, giving her an affectionate squeeze. "You don't look too bad yourself, but you're going to ruin my Saturday Night Fever suit if you don't get your oil-slicked ass off my lap," she observes, wiping her hand against the back of the couch. "And you might want to consider going a little easier on the fake tan, too," she adds, with a twinkle in her eye.

Joanne pinches her lightly on the arm. "I thought you might have mellowed in your old age, but you're still a colossal bitch," she drawls, and Cassie closes the distance between them, giving Joanne a friendly peck on the lips.

"Face it, Egerton, you wouldn't have me any other way."

Cassie raises an inquisitive eyebrow when she sees the amused look on her friend's face.

"What?" she ventures, and Joanne nods towards a spot over her shoulder.

"Uh... does Bambi over there belong to you?"

Cassie whirls around, and swallows audibly when she sees Rachel staring at them with her eyes agog and her mouth hanging open. She looks flushed, and glassy-eyed, and a little bit... jealous?

"Schwimmer!" Cassie exclaims, somewhat disturbed by the way her heart-rate picks up at the sight of her student, "Weren't you heading back to the Convent?"

"Well, I thought about what you said, and I..." Rachel trails off, staring at Joanne, and then abruptly averts her eyes again.

Cassie shares a mischievous look with her friend.

"Jo, this is Little Miss David Schwimmer. But you can call her Schwim."

"Actually, my name is _Rachel_," Schwimmer says primly, and Cassie has to repress a shit-eating grin when Rachel politely extends her hand to Joanne. She's clearly making a concerted effort to appear oblivious to her friend's nudity, but it's painfully obvious that she doesn't know where to look.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Rachel."

Joanne gamely shakes Schwimmer's hand, and then leans towards her with a conspiratorial smile.

"Aren't you a little too young to be dating this bitter old hag, though?"

"We're not... I'm not..." Rachel sputters, and Cassie decides to take pity on her.

"Pull up a pew, Schwimmer," she says, patting the seat beside her. "Schwimmer's one of my _students_," she informs her friend, and Joanne shakes her head despairingly.

"So, naturally, you decide to take her to a strip club and ply her with alcohol."

"Hey! This is a purely... educational exercise," Cassie protests, but her eyes are sparkling as she meets her friend's knowing gaze. "Schwimmer's one of our more... promising... newbies," she admits, but then she sees the look of unbridled glee on Rachel's face and hastens to add, "Which isn't saying much, because most of them are hovering somewhere between hopeless and tragic."

Rachel actually has the gall to stick out her tongue, and Cassie raises her eyebrows, filing that image away for future reference.

"Still, she's got a voice like you wouldn't believe," she grudgingly concedes, and Rachel reverts to looking at her like she's just saved her kitten from drowning, "She's just having a little trouble learning how to... loosen up."

"Well, maybe I can help with that," Joanne suggests, running her fingertips over Rachel's thigh and stopping just below the hemline of her skirt. A part of Cassie wants to let her. The other part wants to slap her goddamn hand away.

Schwimmer looks like she's ready to start hyperventilating, so Cassie reaches for her friend's wrist, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

"Maybe later. Carmen'll have my ass on a platter if you give her little protégée a heart attack."

Cassie doesn't like the way Joanne's looking at her, like she's just revealed so much more than she intended to.

"It's OK, Schwimmer, you can breathe now," Cassie deadpans, and Rachel throws her a grateful look.

"So did you two used to... date?" she shouts over the music, and Cassie nearly chokes on her third tequila shot.

"I should be so lucky," Joanne answers for her, and Cassie pretends not to notice the wistful look on her friend's face, "We were at NYADA together."

"**You** went to NYADA?" Rachel demands disbelievingly, and her face is alight with curiosity as she eagerly waits for Cassie to elaborate.

"Mmmm," Cassie mutters non-committally, glaring at Joanne.

"Cassie was the apple of Carmen's eye," Joanne informs Rachel, clearly delighting in Cassie's discomfort, "That's why Carmen offered her a teaching position after she had her little... meltdown. No one else would hire her." She yelps when Cassie kicks her in the shin. "What?" she demands, "It's not like you have anything to be ashamed of. You were the best in our year. Hell, you were the best in the entire school."

"And a fat lot of good it did me," Cassie snaps, reaching for the bottle of tequila.

"Hey, it could be worse," Joanne reminds her, "You could be me. Still, at least I got to see my name in lights, huh?" she says bitterly, pointing towards the neon billboard above the bar.

Cassie's face softens almost immediately. "Hey," she gently chastises, "You look amazing up there, Jo-Jo."

"She's right, you do," Rachel gushes, and Cassie tries not to choke on her drink, because she knows damn well that Schwimmer has a crick in her neck from trying _not_ to look at Joanne's rack.

"I wish... I wish I had that kind of confidence," Rachel admits, giving Joanne a shy smile.

"Oh, you will," Joanne reassures her, with a salacious wink, "Especially now that Cassie seems to have taken a... _special_ interest in you."

Rachel blushes, casting a fleeting look in Cassie's direction, and it takes all of Cassie's willpower not to throttle her friend, because she can't cope with Rachel mooning over her like that.

"What can I say? Schwimmer's tango was so pathetic, I felt compelled to intervene."

"Yeah, because you're all about affirmative action," Joanne retorts, managing to keep a straight face for all of two seconds.

"Shouldn't you be off giving someone a lap-dance?" Cassie demands, and Joanne laughs, levelling her with a devilish grin.

"OK, fine! I can take a hint. Later, loser."

She waves goodbye to Rachel, and Cassie bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crowing triumphantly when she notices Schwimmer discreetly checking out her ass.

"Do you ever think about going back? To Broadway, I mean?" Rachel asks her after a moment's reprieve, catching Cassie off-guard.

"No," she replies curtly, shaking her head.

"But you could, if you wanted to. You're still talented enough to make it."

"Schwimmer, just... shut up, OK?" Cassie interjects. "I don't need your validation. And let's face it, you don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about, anyway."

Rachel lapses into a wounded silence. It stretches on for so long, Cassie sighs, re-filling her shot glass and handing it to Schwimmer as a peace offering. Rachel eyes the drink with some trepidation, but then her jaw sets in grim determination and she knocks it back like a pro... until she starts coughing and sputtering.

"Maybe we should get you that sippy cup after all," Cassie teases her, patting Schwimmer soundly on the back. Rachel glares at her, and then reaches for the tequila bottle again, chugging back some more of the foul-tasting liquid.

"Whoah, slow down," Cassie admonishes, placing her hand over Rachel's and extracting the bottle from her grasp, because there's no way in hell she's carrying Schwimmer's wasted ass home.

"That's funny, coming from you," Rachel giggles, and apparently she's even more of a jumped-up little shit when she's drunk.

Within a matter of minutes, Rachel is singing along to Nelly Furtado's 'Maneater' - loud enough to drown out the backing track and divert attention away from the stage, which is a pretty impressive feat, considering Leila looks like she's gearing up for the crotch-shot.

"Put a sock in it, Schwimmer."

Rolling her eyes, Cassie shrugs her way out of her jacket, and starts to question why she thought this was a good idea in the first place.

"Wow," Rachel exclaims, eyeing her appreciatively. "Your arms are amazing. Just like your abs," she babbles, and Cassie can't help but laugh.

"Schwimmer, you're surrounded by half-naked women. How about you drool over them instead of me?"

Rachel looks like she's poised to argue, but then she shrugs, finally turning her attention towards the stage. Cassie resists the urge to do a victory dance, and says a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods of Tequila.

She tries to concentrate on watching the show – it's a master-class in the art of Burlesque, fittingly performed to Christina Aguilera's 'Dirty' – but she can't help but glance over at Schwimmer every once in a while. Rachel looks positively... enraptured, and when she sees the faint sheen of sweat gathering on Schwimmer's forehead, Cassie starts to feel a little hot under the collar herself. When Schwimmer starts shifting in her seat - pressing her thighs together, crossing her legs, clutching the arm of the couch - Cassie feels an answering dampness between her own thighs, and her breathing gets almost as shallow as Schwimmer's when her student takes off her sweater, giving her an eyeful of flushed, flawless skin. It suddenly occurs to her that she's more turned on from watching Schwimmer's reactions to what's happening on stage than she is by the performance itself, and that realisation is enough to make her reach for another shot of tequila.

For the past five years, students have been flinging themselves at her, trying to get in her good graces, flirting outrageously (and often embarrassingly) until a scathing put-down finally put them in their place. None of them – not even her most promising students, not even the ones she actually _liked_ – have ever succeeded in making her feel like this. She's weathered tears and tantrums, won countless screaming matches, made the cockiest of students eat humble pie - and yeah, she's even slept with a few of them - but Rachel... Rachel really is something else. She just refuses to give up the fight, no matter how difficult Cassie makes things for her and - even though she would be well within her rights to hate Cassie's guts – she obviously doesn't. No, Schwimmer is still every bit the doe-eyed, eager little beaver she was when she first arrived, craving Cassie's attention and approval. Still, even if she never gets it, Cassie knows it won't stop her from achieving her goals, and that pisses her off no end.

Schwimmer has this inherent sense of self-worth that, truth be told, Cassie is a little envious of, and she can't decide if she wants to beat it out of her, or make sure that no-one ever takes it away. Cassie's never been challenged like this; she's never had someone take her to task and call her on her bullshit. She never expected to _like_ it, either, but when Schwimmer gets all up in her face, it's like a lightening bolt to the groin. She has to laugh at the irony - she brought Schwimmer here because she thought it'd be a riot to see her squirm, and now she's the one who's getting antsy.

She manages to hold out for another couple of minutes, and then she edges a little closer, letting her fingertips glance over Schwimmer's thigh.

"How you're feeling right now; that's how you want your audience to feel when you're dancing. You want them to want you," she breathes into Rachel's ear, feeling Rachel shudder against her. She inhales sharply, taking a moment to compose herself, and then lets her lips graze over Rachel's pulse point. "There's no shame in being sexy, Schwimmer."

Rachel turns to look at her through lowered lashes, and Cassie can see that her pupils are dilated to the point where her eyes are nearly black.

"It's a good look on you," Cassie concludes huskily, and for a moment, she thinks Rachel might actually have the gumption to follow through and kiss her, to take the initiative in this crazy little dance of theirs, but no, she's not ready yet. She's still too tentative; too cautious.

Cassie stays close, so they're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder and their forearms are pressing together; skin on skin; and then she turns her attention back to the stage. Her eyes narrow when the music comes to a grinding halt and she sees Joanne working her way towards the front of the floor, holding a microphone in her hand.

"A very dear friend of mine is in the audience tonight, and she's just about the best damn dancer I've ever seen," she announces, and Cassie's eyes widen in alarm.

"Don't you fucking dare," she mouths to Joanne, making a cutting motion across her throat, but Joanne just grins at her unrepentantly.

"And you'll be pleased to know, she loves _nothing_ more than being the centre of attention, so I'd like to invite her up here to perform a little number with us."

"_No_," Cassie mouths, shaking her head violently, but then she feels Schwimmer's hand settle against her forearm.

"I think you should consider practising what you preach, Miss July," Rachel slurs, in what's clearly supposed to be a sultry tone, and this is why Cassie can't decide if she wants to screw her, or slap her.

"OK, Schwimmer, you asked for it," she says, through gritted teeth, because she knows the gauntlet has been thrown down, and she never – _ever_ – backs away from a challenge.

She sashays her way onto stage, ignoring the catcalls from the peanut gallery, and pokes Joanne in the ribs. Hard.

"I'm going to kill you for this," she mutters under her breath, "What are we doing?"

"Kelis – Milkshake."

"Oh, subtle," Cassie observes sarcastically, "You're sure you don't want to go for Khia, 'My Neck, My Back?"

When Joanne looks like she's actually considering it, Cassie stamps her foot.

"I'm joking!" she hisses, and Joanne grins at her.

"I know."

Still, Cassie doesn't do shy and retiring, and when the music starts, she makes a grab for Joanne, determined to wipe the smug look off of Schwimmer's face _and_ remind her so-called friend why she was always top of the class. If she gets to work out some of her sexual tension in the process, well, that's just an added benefit. She forgoes the high kicks and jazz hands in favour of some good, old-fashioned dirty dancing, and Cassie knows her hips don't lie. She grinds into Joanne and runs a hand through her mussed-up hair, rolling her ass as they work their way down to the floor in perfect syncopation, and when another girl joins them, creating a sandwich in which Cassie is the only fully-clothed occupant, she whoops her approval.

She loops an arm around Joanne's neck, straddling her thigh, and then arches backwards until her hair's sweeping the floor, rolling her hips against her friend's the whole time. Damn, it feels good, and for a moment, she forgets herself. Her eyelids flutter shut and she lets the pounding beat chorus through her, running her hands over her body until her chemise starts to ride up, revealing abs borne of 200 sit-ups a day. She tunes out the hooting and hollering, until all she can hear is the music, but then Joanne spins her around, snapping her back to reality.

"What were you saying about giving the poor girl a heart attack?" she murmurs into Cassie's ear, and Cassie's eyes dart towards Rachel. Schwimmer looks like she's torn between jumping on stage to join them, or running out of the nearest door.

Cassie lets a diabolical smile spread across her face as she turns her attention to her student, and she shimmies off the stage, stalking towards her prey.

"W-what are you doing?" Rachel stutters, as soon as she's within hearing distance, but Cassie doesn't respond. She just grabs Schwimmer's clammy hands and rests them on her hips, writhing seductively in her lap. She hears a sharp intake of breath, and she's reminded of the first time she danced for Schwimmer; how those big brown eyes watched her in awe from across the room; how she enjoyed every minute of making a sexually-repressed little ingénue wake up to her own needs and desires.

"_I could teach you, but I'd have to charge,_" she sings throatily into Rachel's ear, giving her an ample view of her cleavage, and then she turns around, gyrating suggestively in Schwimmer's face and slapping her ass for good measure.

Schwimmer's eyes are hooded and glazed, and she looks like she's seconds away from fainting, so Cassie offers her a parting wink before clambering back on stage to finish the set.

When the music fades out, she's getting intimately-acquainted with a pole, and she waves off the applause and wolf-whistles that ensue with a self-deprecating grin. She turns her attention back to Schwimmer, only to find that she's looking at an empty couch.

"Shit," she cusses, laying a hand on Joanne's arm. "Do you know where Schwimmer went?"

"I think I saw her heading towards the bathroom," one of the other girls pipes up, and Cassie nods her gratitude.

"Thanks."

Praying that she isn't about to find Schwimmer slumped over a toilet seat and throwing her guts up, Cassie cautiously opens the bathroom door. She's about to call Rachel's name, when she hears a barely-audible moan emanating from the stall on her left. She stops in her tracks, cocking her head to the side, and yep, there it is again. Cassie starts to grin, because that is _not_ the kind of moan she would associate with a sick person – on the contrary, the ragged breathing only compounds her initial suspicions. She really didn't think Schwimmer had it in her, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that Little Miss Prim and Proper has locked herself in a dingy bathroom stall with the express intention of getting her rocks off. Cassie feels perversely flattered, and more than little turned on, but the hilarity of the situation eclipses everything else.

She can't resist rapping loudly on the door.

"You OK in there, Schwimmer?" she yells, and her question is met with a horrified gasp and some frantic scrambling. "Anything I can help you with?" she adds, with a beguiling lilt to her tone, all the while trying not to crease up with laughter.

She hears the toilet roll dispenser working overtime as Schwimmer hastily tries to clean herself up, and when Rachel flushes the chain and emerges from her sanctuary, refusing to meet Cassie's amused gaze, Cassie's pretty sure she's never seen anyone turn that particular shade of red before.

"Aw, Schwimmer, you didn't have to stop on my account," she teases, but then her grin rapidly fades, because she can see that Rachel is genuinely mortified.

Schwimmer makes a beeline for the sink, washing her hands with all the vigour of an intern about to scrub in on her first surgery, and Cassie walks over to her, trying to catch Rachel's downcast eyes in the mirror.

"Hey," she gently admonishes, trailing her fingers over Schwimmer's shoulder, "This is precisely your problem. You associate sex with shame; you think you have to _hide_ the fact that you're turned on. I mean, wasn't that the whole point of tonight? Learning to loosen up and listen to your own body? You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Schwimmer. Besides," Cassie says, with a smug smirk, "I'm pretty sure I'm in every student's spank bank."

Rachel flinches away from her like she's been burned. "Can you just leave me alone?" she asks, in a tremulous tone that makes it clear she's struggling to hold it together, "I just... I need some fresh air."

"OK..." Cassie says slowly, momentarily distracted by how hot the two of them look together in the mirror, "I'll walk you to a cab whenever you're ready."

"No," Rachel counters, "You should stay." She glances at Cassie contemptuously. "You seem right at home here."

Well, ouch. Rachel marches out of the bathroom, and for a moment, Cassie considers just letting her go. She briefly wonders if Schwimmer was raised by Catholics, but that doesn't explain her affinity for Broadway musicals and gay men.

Then her conscience gets the better of her. She pictures Schwimmer drunkenly stumbling around the streets of New York at two o'clock in the morning, and that's all the incentive she needs to start running after her. She grabs her jacket, blows a kiss in Joanne's direction, and then finds herself clutching Tony's shoulder, looking up and down a deserted alleyway.

"She went that way," he says, gesturing towards the street, and Cassie nods, jogging in the same direction. She looks up and down the thoroughfare, but Schwimmer's no where to be seen, and Cassie doesn't understand how she got so far ahead of her in such a short space of time. Especially not in those trashy heels.

She walks towards the nearest taxicab stand, asking one of the drivers if he's seen a Jewish girl in a short skirt, and he shakes his head.

"Fuck," she cusses, and then she doubles back on herself, freezing when she hears a blood-curdling scream coming from a nearby alleyway.

"No, no, no," she mutters, and she doesn't even stop to think. She kicks off her shoes, sprinting down the street, and when she sees some sack of shit pinning a terrified Schwimmer up against a wall, trying to cop a feel while she frantically bats his hands away, she loses it. She takes one look at Schwimmer's torn tights and hiked-up skirt, and launches herself at him, throwing her shoes aside so she can punch him squarely on the jaw.

He stumbles backwards, and Cassie hastily retrieves one of her stilettos, beating the shit out of him with the spiked heel. She hits him so hard, she can feel the steel point tearing through his clothes and penetrating his skin. He screams like a girl, and she hurls obscenities at him, giving him an insight into why she's been banned from multiple airlines; why she spent a month on the psych ward after her career went to shit. She drives him to the floor, and it's only when she sees his face under the street-lights that she recognises him from the club.

She realises, then, that's she's indirectly responsible for getting Schwimmer into this mess in the first place, and the guilt's nearly crippling. She knees the bastard in the face, but even when he curls up in a foetal position with blood spurting out of his nose, she has no intention of stopping until Tony comes hurtling around the corner, physically dragging her away from him.

"Cassie, stop," he says, shaking her by the shoulders, "You need to stop. It's over. She's OK."

Cassie sags against him, and then nods, blindly reaching for Rachel, who looks too shell-shocked to speak.

"We should call the police," Cassie wheezes, even though she knows their little excursion will probably cost her her job, but Rachel shakes her head violently.

"No, please don't. I just... I just want to go home," she whispers brokenly, and she sounds so fucking young, it breaks Cassie's heart.

"I'll deal with it," Tony tells her, but Cassie hesitates.

"Tony, I don't want him preying on some other kid - "

"Cassie, I'll deal with it," he assures her, and Cassie glances down at the snivelling wreck on the floor, nodding her assent.

"Come on," she says, wrapping a protective arm around Schwimmer's shoulders, and she waits until they're clear of the alleyway before she asks the question she's terrified of hearing the answer to.

"Are you OK? Did he touch you?" she demands, gently turning Rachel around to face her, and Schwimmer's eyes are already brimming with tears.

She shakes her head, no, and Cassie releases the breath that she's been holding.

"At least... at least someone finds me sexy, right?" Schwimmer chokes out, with a hollow laugh, but then her face crumples and she starts to sob convulsively.

The sound is heart-rending, and Cassie feels sick to the stomach. There's a twisted part of her that wants to tell Schwimmer to suck it up and get a thicker skin, because being pawed at by overly-amorous guys is part and parcel of the industry, but then she remembers how she felt the first time some dickwad stuck his hand between her legs without invitation, and she wonders when she became such a heartless cow.

"Oh, sweetie. Come here," she says, ignoring the throbbing in her battered hands as she enfolds Rachel in a tentative embrace. Schwimmer's heart is pounding almost as violently as her own, and she's shaking like a leaf. Cassie's arms tighten around her, and she holds her close, trying to instil a little warmth into Schwimmer's trembling frame.

"I'm sorry," Cassie murmurs, and Rachel clings to her, burying her face in the crook of Cassie's shoulder as she cries her eyes out. Cassie tries to move her hand enough to tenderly stroke Rachel's hair, pressing a feather-light kiss against her temple. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's not... it's not your fault," Rachel hiccups, and they stay nestled together for a few more moments, until Rachel pulls back, swiping at her eyes.

"I'm fine, really," she reassures her, with a watery smile, "Just a little shaken up, that's all." She eyes Cassie with a look of wonderment, but there's a hint of wariness in her gaze, too. "I thought... I thought you were going to kill him," she admits, on the back of a high-pitched giggle, and Cassie wonders if Schwimmer thinks she's some kind of psychotic, crazy bitch now, just like everyone else in this Godforsaken city.

"Well, I've had plenty of experience fending off horn-dogs who can't keep their hands to themselves," Cassie admits, with a little more bitterness than she intended, and she flinches away when Rachel tries to hold her hand.

Schwimmer lets out a horrified gasp when she sees her swollen knuckles, and she reaches out again, cradling Cassie's hand in her palm. She's being so painstakingly gentle, Cassie has to turn her head away so Schwimmer won't see the tears pooling in her eyes.

"Oh my God, you're bleeding," Rachel laments, sounding like she's on the verge of crying all over again, and Cassie manages a nonchalant shrug.

"Hey, I'm more worried about my shoes. They cost me three hundred bucks," she jokes.

Rachel glances down at her bare feet, looking aghast.

"Yeah, we should probably get out of here before frostbite sets in," Cassie says wryly, nodding towards the taxi stand.

Keeping her eyes on the street to make sure she doesn't round off this stellar night by stepping on some shards of broken glass, Cassie hobbles her way towards the nearest cab. Schwimmer snakes an arm around her waist, and even though Cassie's pride urges her to move away, she doesn't.

They collapse into the back seat of the taxi, and Cassie closes her eyes, suddenly exhausted. They live miles apart, and the fare home is going to cost her a small fortune, but she can't let Schwimmer travel alone. Not in this state. The adrenaline rush has long since subsided, and now Cassie's limbs feel enervated and her head's starting to pound. Schwimmer – for once in her life - seems to sense that now would be a good time to shut up, and they lapse into a comfortable silence, until the driver pulls up outside of Rachel's run-down apartment.

"Well, this is me," Schwimmer says, casting a lingering look in Cassie's direction. "You know, in spite of... in spite of everything that happened tonight, I still had a good time."

"Then you really need to get out more," Cassie counters, but there's no real malice in her tone. Rachel grins, impulsively closing the distance between them to kiss her on the cheek.

"Goodnight," she says softly, and Cassie's lips – entirely of their own volition – curl into an affectionate smile as she meets Rachel's timid gaze.

"'Night, Schwimmer," she murmurs, watching Rachel walk away.

Once Schwimmer's safely inside, Cassie turns to look out of the window, and her heart catapults into her throat when she catches a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror. She realises that she's reverently touching the spot where Schwimmer just kissed her, and wonders what the hell is happening to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Their apartment is freezing – they can't afford to keep the heating on overnight - but Rachel still feels feverish, tossing and turning beneath her comforter. Her head is spinning, and she doesn't know if it's the after-effects of the alcohol or the live-action replay of tonight's events whirling through her mind. Either way, she's too wired to sleep. Reliving her altercation with that perverted jerk makes her break out in a panicky sweat, but she wills herself not to think about the what-ifs. Instead, she focuses on the events that culminated in her running out of the club in the first place; Miss July invading her personal space, leaning close to her to be heard over the music, straddling her lap and performing a dance that was purposefully designed to provoke her. Rachel tried to keep her cool, but there was no escaping the obvious. She was so blinded with lust, she practically had tunnel vision, and she couldn't have averted her eyes even if she'd wanted to.

She'd only stumbled to the restroom with the intention of splashing some cold water on her face and hastily reapplying her make-up. She'd only locked herself in a stall so she could claw back some semblance of composure. She'd never expected to get caught with her tights around her ankles and her hand between her thighs, desperately trying to relieve that all-consuming ache and, even now, she can still feel the bitter sting of shame.

She buries her head in her pillow, allowing the cool fabric to soothe her burning cheeks, and tries not to think about Miss July making some kind of faintly-veiled reference to her indiscretion in class. She would never survive the humiliation. That's why she couldn't get out of that bathroom quickly enough - she had to flee from the mocking intensity in Cassandra's eyes as she regarded her in the mirror; from the desire that was still thrumming through her veins. It made her feel weak-kneed and light-headed and impulsive enough to shove her teacher into the nearest stall and kiss that smug smirk off her face. It had taken all of her self-restraint not to.

Rachel's never wanted someone this much, and she hates the way Cassandra effortlessly toys with her emotions. With Finn, there was always a sense of contentment and security, but when Miss July walks into a room, Rachel's nerve endings ignite in a rush of anticipation, and it feels like she's poised to walk onto the stage at Nationals all over again. Her stomach starts fluttering, her heart starts pounding, and all she cares about is impressing her audience.

Rachel knows this isn't just wishful thinking on her part. There's something between them, something she can't really define, something that makes her feel starry-eyed and agitated at the same time. It frightens her, too, because if this is all a game – if Cassandra is just setting her up for another fall; reeling her in until she plunges off the precipice – she doesn't know if she'll be able to climb back up again. She could walk into the dance studio tomorrow and be hit by another wave of hostility, and she doesn't know if she can pretend to take it all in her stride. Not anymore. Not after the way Cassandra looked at her when she was poised to get out of the taxi; not after the way she held her until the last vestiges of embarrassment ebbed away.

Miss July may be callous and unpredictable, she may have a knack for tapping into Rachel's insecurities and pushing all of her buttons, but Rachel knows there's more to her than meets the eye. If Cassandra hadn't cared enough to come running after her tonight... Rachel shudders in revulsion as she considers the consequences, but then she remembers the spine-chilling look on Cassandra's face before she rushed to defend her honour. She remembers how it felt to be treated with concern instead of contempt, and it's...

Rachel finally gives in, and slips a hand between her legs to finish what she started in the restroom. She's never been very good at this. Usually, after ten minutes of awkward fumbling – which feels good, but never great - she tends to give up, but tonight, one stroke of her fingers and she can feel her entire body humming with expectation. She inches up her nightdress and lays her pillow across her chest, feeling the negligible weight of it settle against her breasts, and her nipples are hard and aching as she tentatively explores herself. Her lips move against the pillow in open-mouthed kisses, and her back arches off the bed as she delves determinedly into wet heat. She hits a spot that sends a jolt of white-hot warmth chorusing through her body, making her convulse in approval, and no, this doesn't feel clumsy and laboured at all. This feels a million times better than her tepid encounters with Finn and Brody.

"Miss July," Rachel whispers self-consciously into the night air, squeezing her eyes shut as she eases a finger inside of herself. She pictures her teacher writhing in her lap and singing obscene lyrics into her ear - so close her hair is falling into Rachel's face - and suddenly one finger isn't enough to stem the tide of arousal that's pooling between her thighs. Rachel adds another finger, and bucks her hips with an urgency she's never felt before, until the pillow is moving erratically against her breasts, stimulating her sensitized nipples and creating just the right amount of friction.

"Cassandra...Cassie," she moans experimentally - louder, this time – fisting a hand in the bedsheets as she focuses on prolonging the rush of sensation. Her pulse is throbbing so hard, she can hear her heartbeat in her ears, and when her body finally quivers and shudders in gratification, it's so powerful - so intense - that she feels tears pricking at the back of her eyes. She slumps bonelessly onto the bed, and it takes her several moments to regain her equilibrium. Then she feels embarrassed all over again, because now she knows what an orgasm _really_ feels like, she realises the pleasurable ache in the pit of her stomach that resulted from Finn's inadequate ministrations doesn't even come close. She starts to laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth so she doesn't wake Kurt, and wonders what all of this means.

* * *

In the cold light of day, the events of last night seem almost surreal. Even still, Rachel tiptoes her way around the apartment, because she's not ready to face Kurt and his endless stream of questions just yet. A part of her likes the idea of keeping her clandestine encounter with Cassandra a secret, but another part of her is longing for some perspective on the situation.

She takes another long, hot shower, and feels her cheeks flush as she lathers the soap between her thighs. Just thinking about seeing Miss July again makes her hands sweat and her stomach roil, because she doesn't know what to expect from her in the wake of last night. She inwardly vows that if Cassandra says so much as a word about what happened in that restroom, she'll tell the whole class that their teacher likes to fornicate with strippers in her spare time.

Struggling her way through a bowl of cereal, Rachel checks her Dance 101 schedule, and feels a kernel of hope when she sees that they're moving on from Ballet and Ballroom to Tap and Jazz. She hastily dusts off her well-worn tap shoes, struck by a pang of nostalgia for her teacher back in Ohio; a kindly old lady who frequently told Rachel she was the best dancer she'd ever seen. Miss July didn't waste any time in shattering those illusions.

Preparing for dance class used to involve throwing whatever was clean into a gym bag, but now Rachel casts a critical eye over her closet, forsaking the demure ballet skirts in favour of a sleek black leotard and a pair of fish-net tights. She's hoping the high-cut leg and sleeveless bodice will go some way to proving that she's not ashamed of her own body, and that she doesn't need to be treated with kid gloves after her breakdown last night, but something tells her pity isn't in Cassandra's repertoire anyway.

* * *

Rachel holds her head high in an attempt to belie her trepidation as she walks into the studio, but she can't resist casting a furtive glance at her teacher. Miss July's eyes rove over her toned thighs and sheer tights, but the cutting gibe that Rachel's expecting never comes. Instead, Cassandra shoots her a lascivious smile that's straight out of Rachel's late-night fantasies, and Rachel ducks her head to hide her visceral reaction.

It takes her a moment to realise that Miss July is wearing fingerless gloves – no doubt to cover the bruises on her hands – and Rachel's eyes soften with concern when she realises that her teacher isn't brandishing her omnipresent cane, either - probably because she can't flex her hands enough to grip it.

When one of the guys jokingly asks Cassandra if she's taking fashion pointers from Madonna, she retaliates by saying that she's just worried their hopelessness might be contagious, and Rachel can't help but snort at her quick-witted response.

"You think that's funny?" Miss July demands, but Rachel knows the reproachful lilt to her tone is just for show.

Rachel continues the charade, shaking her head submissively, and Cassandra holds her gaze for a moment, with the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips. She makes a show of walking around the room, critically appraising her students as they undertake their warm-up exercises, and then she stops directly in front of Rachel.

"I swear your posture's getting progressively worse, Schwimmer," she laments, but her eyes tell a different story as she reaches out to straighten Rachel's already perfectly-aligned shoulders. Rachel's used to being ruthlessly poked and prodded by her teacher, but this time, Cassandra's touch feels unnervingly intimate.

"You OK?" Miss July murmurs, softly enough so that only Rachel can hear her, and Rachel's insides melt in the face of her obvious concern.

She nods her assent, and then casts a quick glance around the room, letting her fingers brush fleetingly against Cassandra's hand. "I got home last night and realised that I didn't even get to say a proper 'thank you' - "

Cassandra rolls her eyes, putting a little distance between them. "You can spare me the 'Did You Ever Know That You're My Hero?' speech, OK?"

"Why? Would you prefer me to sing it to you instead?" Rachel ventures, tongue firmly in cheek, and Miss July shakes her head despairingly.

"I'm going now, Schwimmer. Far, far away," she says drolly, but she's smiling.

"OK, freshmen, gather around," Miss July proclaims, cringing at the sound of twenty pairs of tap shoes hitting the floor at once, "And I'd appreciate it if you walked on your tippy-toes, because I've got a pounding headache."

"More like a raging hangover," the girl who Cassandra christened 'Muffin Top' mutters under her breath, and Rachel fights the urge to glare at her.

"I think it's painfully obvious that none of you are destined for Swan Lake," Cassandra informs the class, with a pitying smile, "Hell, some of you can't even do a _plié _without looking like you're poised to take a dump."

She eyes them all contemptuously, and Rachel holds her breath, wondering if Miss July is going to single her out. She doesn't, and Rachel's shoulders sag with relief.

"If it was up to me, we wouldn't be moving on until every last one of you has mastered the basics, but as that's probably not going to happen in my lifetime, I'm going to have to lower my expectations. I have a syllabus to teach, and that means I get to watch you pathetic little runts butcher yet _another_ discipline that I hold near and dear to my heart." Her eyes fall on Lydia. "And yes, Muffin Top, that would be my cold, _dead_ heart."

The class snickers, and Rachel catches Cassandra's eye, smiling in spite of herself.

"Today, we're going to learn a little number called the Shim-Sham-Shimmy," Cassandra informs them, and Rachel can't stop herself from bouncing on the spot and letting out a muted exclamation of delight, because she mastered that routine in her intermediate Tap Class when she was twelve years old.

"And I can see that Schwimmer can barely contain her excitement," Miss July notes wryly, and Rachel wonders if she's imagining the way her teacher's eyes linger on her face for a little too long.

"You've done this before?" she asks Rachel, and Rachel nods eagerly.

"I know there are different variations, but - "

"I don't need a history lesson, Schwimmer, just give me a 'yes' or a 'no,'" Miss July interjects, and Rachel flinches a little, realising that she may have been lured into a false sense of security.

"Yes," she answers, more curtly than she intended.

"OK, then." Rachel notices the wince that briefly registers on Cassandra's features when she crooks a finger to beckon her over, "Little Miss Happy Feet over here is going to show you all how it's done."

Rachel's eyes widen, and she glances around at her classmates' suspenseful faces, slowly shaking her head. "I'm not – I mean, it's been a while, and I - "

"What's the matter, Schwimmer? I didn't think you were the type to shy away from the spotlight," Cassandra cajoles, and Rachel somehow senses that this is payback for last night, and the role she played in getting her teacher up on stage.

"We're waiting," Miss July reminds her, standing aside with a gallant sweep of her arm, and Rachel's eyes narrow into slits as she moves to the front of the room. Cassandra regards her expectantly, and Rachel can see that she's trying not to laugh.

"OK, well, you asked for it," she says, with a dismissive shrug, echoing Cassandra's words from last night. Miss July opens her mouth, and then abruptly closes it again, and Rachel feels a little thrill of excitement when she notices the dangerous glint in her teacher's eyes.

"Five, six, seven, eight."

Miss July counts her in, and Rachel launches into the routine, relaxing as the steps come flooding back to her. A couple of bars in, and she stops having to fake her smile. She taps out the familiar rhythm, trying to imagine that she's back at a seventh-grade dance recital and not standing in front of some of the most talented students in the country. It works, and for a moment, she just enjoys the performance, content in the knowledge that she's nailing it, but then she makes the mistake of looking at Cassandra, and the expression on her teacher's face – she actually seems impressed, and she's sporting what looks suspiciously like an indulgent smile - is enough to make her falter.

"Stamp, brush, step," Miss July reminds her, and Rachel hesitates, until Cassandra impulsively jogs over to join her, demonstrating the sequence. Rachel watches her for a second, and then picks up where she left off. They finish the routine together, matching each other step-for-step and keeping perfect time, and Rachel risks casting another glance at Miss July as they ball-change their way into the grand finale. She's expecting to see annoyance, or resentment, but instead she gets another glimpse of that heart-stopping smile. For one exhilarating moment, they grin at each other uninhibitedly, but then Cassandra seems to check herself, schooling her features into an impassive mask.

"Good," she says, matter-of-factly, and Rachel waits for the other shoe to drop. When it doesn't, it takes everything she has to contain the happiness that's bubbling up inside of her.

Then Cassandra makes the mistake of clapping to get the class' attention, and her face contorts with pain.

"Mother _fucker_," she curses, turning away from them, and Rachel can't stop herself from rushing forwards and laying a hand on her teacher's forearm.

"Are you OK?" she beseeches, and Cassandra looks at her like she's just sprouted two heads. She leans forward until there's barely an inch of space between them, and then lowers her voice.

"Schwimmer, as... touched... as I am by your concern, now really isn't the time," she hisses under her breath, and Rachel immediately lets go of her arm, suddenly aware of the way her classmates are staring at them.

"Schwimmer seems to think that she knows it all already, so she's going to be my honorary TA for the day," Cassandra announces, as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. Seeing the flabbergasted looks on her students' faces, her lips curl into an ironic smile. "I know you all pay extortionate tuition fees to learn from the best," she concludes, with no small measure of sarcasm. "Now go finish warming up."

She dismisses the class with a wave of her hand, but Rachel hangs back, regarding her warily.

"Are you serious? About me helping you to teach?" she demands quietly, and Cassandra turns to face her with a quirked eyebrow.

"Unless you'd prefer to go and practice your _battements_ in the corner?" Her tone is sharp at first, but then her features noticeably soften. "Don't look so suspicious," she chastises, levelling Rachel with an amused smile, "I can be nice, you know?"

"The last time you were this 'nice' to me, you paid for me to fly home so you could screw the guy I was dating," Rachel reminds her, and Cassandra looks taken aback for a moment. Then she brushes past Rachel en route to the barre, and Rachel knows the whisper of a hand against her hip isn't accidental.

"I was pretty nice to you last night," Cassandra reminds her, glancing around to make sure that nobody's eavesdropping on their conversation, "And you know I only fooled around with Brody to get under your skin."

"So you did it to hurt me," Rachel acknowledges, and the realisation leaves her feeling raw all over again. For a fleeting second, Cassandra almost looks contrite, but then her expression hardens.

"No, I did you a favour," she shoots back. "This is college, Schwimmer, and you've only been here for a few months. You should keep your options open... experiment a little," she teases, turning come-hither eyes and a suggestive smirk in Rachel's direction. Then she bends over right in front of her, placing her palms gingerly against the floor, and Rachel has no option but to stare at her teacher's toned thighs and perfect ass, trying to fend off flashbacks of last night.

Rachel wills herself not to give Miss July the satisfaction of a response, but she can't do anything to hide the blush that's colouring her cheeks. Apparently, Cassandra is done pouring scorn on her dancing ability, and now she's waging war on her libido. Still, two can play that game, and Rachel sinks gracefully to the floor, spreading her legs in a supine groin stretch. She knows her leotard doesn't leave much to the imagination, and she turns a defiant smirk in Cassandra's direction when she sees her teacher do a double-take.

Of course, Cassandra has to turn this into a competition, and she splits the class in half, telling Rachel that she has an hour to teach ten of her peers the routine, and then they'll duel it out on the dance floor. While Cassandra plays Drill Sergeant across the room, Rachel throws herself into the task at hand, shooting a pointed look in her teacher's direction every time she says something supportive or complimentary to her classmates. She knows she doesn't have to motivate them to succeed, because the string of scathing remarks they're making about the opposing team – and in particular, Miss July - makes her fidget uncomfortably, but at least they seem amenable to her taking charge. They follow her instructions with relative ease, and she can't help but feel a surge of pride as she watches their routine take shape.

When the clock hits 11am, Miss July takes centre stage, and her group assembles behind her. Cassandra's confidence is intimidating, and it gives her an air of invincibility that Rachel can't help but find alluring. She tries to remain objective as she watches their competitors ace the routine, but her eyes keep roving back to Miss July. Cassandra, as always, is mesmerising to watch, and even though the tap dance only showcases a modicum of her talent, Rachel can see her teacher's relentless drive to succeed. She outshines everyone around her, and performs with a passion that none of them can match, no matter how fervently they try.

Rachel's pretty much lost all hope of winning, so her heart skips a beat when Simon suddenly stops mid-way through the routine, clearly drawing a blank when it comes to performing the next set of steps. In his hastiness to try and whitewash over his mistake, he loses his footing and collides with Nicole, sending her careering to the side. The group's seamless performance is in a shambles, and everyone looks aghast.

Cassandra's face sets in a stony mask, but she waits until the routine's over before she blows a gasket.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she practically screams at Simon. "Do you know what would happen if you pulled a stunt like that during a show? Your entire fucking cast would disown you."

Simon looks like he's about to ask Cassandra if she's speaking from experience, but then he clearly thinks better of it. He turns on his heel and storms out of the room, and Rachel holds her breath, hardly daring to move.

"OK, Schwimmer, let's see what you've got." Cassandra turns to face her, still glowering, and the knot in Rachel's stomach feels like a dead weight.

She hesitates, and suddenly she's faced with the old Cassandra; the Cassandra whose mouth is curled in a perpetual sneer; the Cassandra whose eyes cut like daggers.

"I said _MOVE_," she commands, and Rachel grits her teeth, clapping her hands to get her group's attention. The moment of reckoning has finally arrived.

"OK, let's do this," she urges, with a shaky smile, and then she sets about leading them by example. They dance the routine flawlessly, and even Lydia, who was half a beat behind during rehearsals, manages to keep up. When they're finished, Rachel jumps up and down and squeals along with the rest of her group, laughing when they engulf her in a jubilant bear-hug.

Then she sees the look on Cassandra's face, and her smile abruptly fades.

"Come on, Miss July, we beat you fair and square!" Frankie protests, and Cassandra dips her head in acknowledgement.

"You did," she concedes, with a tight-lipped smile, and then she mimics what Rachel assumes is supposed to be an effervescent kindergarten teacher, "So why don't you all give yourselves a big pat on the back?"

"Bitch," someone mutters under their breath, but Rachel can tell from the rigid set of Cassandra's shoulders that she heard them.

"You're dismissed. All of you; get out!" Miss July hollers, abruptly turning away from them, and the rest of Rachel's classmates don't waste any time in filtering out of the room. Against her better judgement, Rachel stays behind, regarding her teacher worriedly. It doesn't take Cassandra long to realise that she's being watched, and she whirls around, staring at Rachel with ferocious intensity.

"You're just so fucking _perfect_, aren't you, Schwimmer?" she proclaims, but she sounds more anguished than angry.

Rachel bites her lip. "I wasn't... I wasn't trying to undermine you," she says, earnestly, and Cassandra offers her a self-deprecating smile.

"No," she agrees, "I manage to do that all by myself."

She reaches for her gym bag, grimacing with pain as she rifles through it. When she emerges with a flask and starts hastily unscrewing the cap, Rachel crosses the room, placing her hand over Cassandra's to stop her from lifting it to her lips.

"Don't," she beseeches, gently prising the flask out of her teacher's hands. She's expecting Miss July to scream abuse at her, but Cassandra's shoulders slump in defeat, and she looks too exhausted - too apathetic - to care.

Feeling like she's about to defuse a bomb, Rachel reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her teacher's ear, stroking Cassandra's cheek with trembling fingertips. Cassandra looks at her sharply, but she doesn't pull away, and Rachel's heart is pounding so violently, it feels like it's going to explode.

"You're amazing, too," she tells her teacher, and it's obvious she means every word of it. Cassandra snorts, shaking her head at Rachel's sentimentality, but Rachel can tell there's a part of her that's genuinely moved by her words. It's that fleeting moment of vulnerability that spurs her on, and she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips against Cassandra's in a kiss that's a little too desperate, and a little too insistent. For one heart-stopping moment, Cassandra kisses her back, and Rachel feels the longing behind it. It's enough to make her whimper with need, but when she moves to thread a hand through her teacher's hair, Cassandra abruptly pulls away.

"Trust me, Schwimmer, I'm more baggage than you can handle," she says bitterly, and Rachel regards her in breathless confusion. Seeing the conflicted expression on her teacher's face, she reaches out to her again, but Cassandra pushes her away.

Rachel looks on in stunned silence as her teacher snatches the flask out of her hand and walks out of the room, leaving her to wonder if she just made the biggest mistake of her life.


	5. Chapter 5

_**I'd just like to say a huge "thank you!" to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this fic so far. Your lovely comments really spur me on (even after an exhausting day at work), and it makes writing about these two even more enjoyable! ;) I hope you continue to get a kick out of the story.**_

* * *

Rachel's through with trying to understand the twisted machinations of Cassandra's mind. Miss July has been stringing her along for weeks; there's been a flirtatious undercurrent to practically everything she's said and done. She's been breathing down Rachel neck; teasing her mercilessly; waiting for her to succumb to temptation – probably just so she could gloat about it afterwards. Short of making blatant sexual overtures, Cassandra couldn't have been any more transparent in her quest to make Rachel relinquish control, but when Rachel finally gave up the fight, Cassandra ran for the hills instead of claiming her spoils. It doesn't make any sense, and Rachel wonders how the woman who thinks nothing of performing explicit dance routines in front of her class – of sleeping with her students and boasting about it afterwards – can get so worked up over one little kiss. Cassandra makes no secret of the fact that she thrives on sex, but apparently, Rachel isn't enough to satiate her.

"_I'm more baggage than you can handle."_ Rachel doesn't even know what that's supposed to mean. That she's just some sheltered, clueless kid from the backwoods of nowhere who doesn't have what it takes to satisfy the Great Cassandra July? That she's so inexperienced and inept, Cassandra can't even bring herself to capitalise on the power that Rachel (stupidly) handed to her?

It makes Rachel feel like a fool for throwing herself at Miss July in the first place, and she wonders if this was Cassandra's plan all along – to make her feel inadequate, and undesirable; to make her wonder if she's going to be called into Miss Tibideaux's office and asked to explain her momentary lapse of sanity.

Still, a part of her can't shake the image of Miss July's face after they pulled apart. That inherent cockiness – that unwavering self-confidence – was gone, and for a moment, Rachel caught a glimpse of something that made her want to wrap her arms around Cassandra and never let go. That surge of protectiveness was almost as overwhelming as the kiss itself, but it doesn't stop Rachel from spending inordinate amounts of time fantasising about the softness of Cassandra's mouth, or remembering the intoxicating taste of her lips.

She can't afford to dwell on it anymore though. Tomorrow she has to walk back into that dance studio and weather whatever Cassandra is going to throw at her, and she has a horrible feeling that her teacher's going to relish fulfilling her promise to make her life a living hell. It's almost enough to make her consider cutting class altogether, but Rachel always vowed that she'd never let anyone stand in the way of her dreams, and she isn't about to start now.

She consoles herself with the knowledge that she only has to get through one more lesson before they finish for the holidays, and soon she'll be sailing the open seas with her Dads. She'll be lying on a deck chair in the blazing sunshine, reading a trashy novel, and Cassandra July will be nothing but a distant speck on the horizon. New York used to be her Mecca, but now she can't wait to leave it all behind and take refuge with the people who love her unconditionally. Maybe then she'll be able to get into the festive spirit.

* * *

To Rachel's immense relief, her sense of impending doom proves to be unwarranted. Cassandra doesn't acknowledge her existence for the first thirty minutes of the lesson – Rachel keeps sneaking glances at her teacher in the hopes of catching Miss July looking at her, even if it means she'll eventually have to baulk from the eye contact – but Cassandra's doing an award-worthy job of pretending not to notice. She's in a foul mood, though; taking her frustration out on the other students with a colourful array of insults, and Rachel isn't complacent enough to think that she'll escape completely unscathed.

Even though the painful knot in her stomach is starting to unfurl a little, she's still on tenterhooks, and it's affecting her concentration. They're practising para-diddles in formation, building up their speed, but Rachel's running on autopilot. She's so consumed with trying not to watch Cassandra's every move, her shoe hits the floor before she's expecting it to, and she hisses with pain when her right ankle gives way and her foot rolls over at an awkward angle. She loses her balance, and suddenly Cassandra's catching her before she falls, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her upright.

"Watch your step, Schwimmer," Cassandra warns her, moving away as soon as Rachel regains her footing. Her tone is subdued, and she turns away before Rachel can see her expression, but the fleeting warmth of her touch and the lingering traces of her perfume leave Rachel feeling completely dismantled.

"Miss July?" she ventures, and there's a moment where Cassandra seems to freeze before she turns around to face her.

"Yes?" she snaps, but she's looking at the wall, not at Rachel.

"I think I might..." Rachel flexes her foot, and sucks in a sharp breath, "I think I might have twisted my ankle."

"Then you're an idiot," Cassandra informs her flatly, but there's a flicker of something inscrutable in her expression, "Sit down. Let me take a look," she says, sinking to her knees and reaching for the laces on Rachel's tap shoe, but Rachel hops away from her, shaking her head profusely.

"No, that's OK," she hastens to reassure her, because the thought of Cassandra touching her right now is too much to bear, "I think I'll just... go home and put some ice on it. I mean, if that's all right with you?"

Rachel hopes it isn't obvious that she's desperately looking for an out.

Cassandra hesitates for a moment, and Rachel's expecting a tirade about how she has no staying power, or a lecture about how real performers suffer for their art, but Miss July just tilts her head in acquiescence.

"Go ahead," she permits, with a nonchalant shrug, but then she holds out a hand to forestall Rachel's departure, "But first, you have the dubious honour of being the first freshman to make it into my 'Klutzes and Walking Catastrophes' book."

Rachel studies the wood panelling on the studio floor as she waits for Cassandra to return with the accident log. Miss July hastily scribbles out the details of her injury, and Rachel finds herself noticing things that she's never picked up on before – like the fact that Cassandra's left-handed, and her writing is terrible, and her fingers are like a concert pianist's; long and impossibly elegant. Miss July's knuckles are still bruised from the other night, and Rachel feels a pang of longing when she remembers what it felt like to be ensconced in her teacher's warm embrace. When Cassandra hands her the form to sign, there's a brief moment of frisson when their fingertips collide, and Rachel nearly drops the proffered pen.

"Do you need some help getting home?" Cassandra asks her, seemingly oblivious to Rachel's inner turmoil.

For a moment, Rachel misunderstands her and feels a hot rush of hope, but then Miss July nods towards her classmates.

"I could always get someone to take you."

"No, I'll be fine, thank you," Rachel tells her, and their conversation already feels too stunted; too polite.

"OK, well, have a nice Christmas... or Hannukah... or whatever," Cassandra says. She's trying to sound perfunctory, but Rachel doesn't miss the underlying note of sincerity in her voice.

"You, too." Rachel manages to conjure up a smile, but she's dangerously close to blinking back tears.

She hobbles out of the studio, casting one last look over her shoulder, and sees Cassandra watching her with a pained expression.

* * *

Three days later, the throbbing in Rachel's ankle has given way to the occasional twinge, and she persuades Brody to hand her the spare keys to the studio, determined to get in some more practice before she leaves for the Caribbean. She can't afford to fall behind, and Kurt's getting sick of her clattering around their apartment. She waits until 10pm, knowing the East Wing will be deserted, and then hurries through the empty corridors, which seem eerie now that they're barely illuminated by the dismal campus lighting. She rounds the corner and then stops in her tracks, breaking out in a cold sweat when she hears the faint strains of music emanating from the studio. For a second, she considers turning around and running in the opposite direction, but the sound of Cassandra's voice draws her closer, like some kind of Siren's Song. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she edges open the door, until the crack is barely big enough for her to peep through.

"_I play a good game, but not as good as you_

_I can be a little cold, but you can be so cruel_

_I'm not made of brick, I'm not made of stone_

_But I had you fooled enough to take me on." _

Rachel's breath hitches as she listens to her teacher singing the unfamiliar lyrics, in a tone that's melodic, but achingly raw at the same time. There's something about the song that instantly resonates with her, but Cassandra's captivating performance intensifies the impact. Miss July moves differently when there isn't an audience around to watch her; she seems less ostentatious and more exposed. She's not putting on a show, she's just breathing life into the music, embodying the lyrics in every agile twist and poignant turn of her body.

Rachel knows she should walk away right now, because her heart's starting to swell like it does when she's watching Barbra Streisand in 'The Way We Were,' and she doesn't want to associate those kinds of emotions with Cassandra July. She doesn't want to feel _anything_ for this infuriating, spiteful, ridiculously attractive woman.

"_See I bleed and I bruise, oh, but what's it to you  
I'm only human on the inside  
And if looks could deceive,  
Make it hard to believe  
I'm only human on the inside  
I crash and I burn, maybe some day you'll learn  
I'm only human on the inside  
I stumble and fall, baby, under it all  
I'm only human on the inside."_

Cassandra's voice is raspy now, like she's fending off a world of pain, and Rachel swallows the lump in her throat as she watches her teacher sink to her knees in defeat. She moves to close the door, because this is starting to feel uncomfortably voyeuristic, but then Miss July's back stiffens and she whirls around, squinting into the darkness at the back of the room.

"Who's there?" she demands, grabbing the remote for the stereo, and Rachel freezes, rooted to the spot.

Slowly, reluctantly, she opens the door, because she knows that if she runs, Cassandra won't think twice about hunting her down. For a moment, Cassandra just stares at her, and she looks exactly like Rachel felt in that restroom; like she's been caught doing something that no-one was ever meant to bear witness to. Then her face turns to stone.

"So you're stalking me now, Schwimmer?" she demands, and Rachel shakes her head violently.

"No! I didn't think anyone would be here. I just wanted to go over what we learned this week, now that my ankle's..." Seeing Cassandra's less-than-amused expression, Rachel realises that she's babbling, and ducks her head. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

"Stay," Cassandra counters, crossing the room to remove her CD from the stereo. "God knows, you need the practice more than I do." She throws Rachel a cursory glance. "Just make sure you lock up before you leave."

"OK... I will. Thank... thank you," Rachel stutters, because she's still trying to adjust to how young – and breathtakingly beautiful - her teacher looks without any make-up on. Miss July's wearing loose-fitting sweat pants and has her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, and it's so far removed from the calculated sex appeal that Rachel's used to, she can't stop herself from staring.

Rachel watches Cassandra through the wall-to-wall mirrors as she packs up her gym bag, and bites her lip when Miss July pulls off her T-shirt and casts it aside, stripping down to her modest black sports bra. She towels herself off, and Rachel leans into a hamstring stretch, pressing her pelvis hard against the floor as she studies the lustrous sheen of her teacher's skin; her slim hips and chiselled abs. Then Cassandra pulls on a clean sweater, catching Rachel's eye in the mirror, and Rachel hastily looks away. For a moment, she thinks Miss July is going to leave without saying another word to her, but then Cassandra hesitates, with her hand hovering inches away from the door.

"Do you want me to run through the rest of the lesson with you, so you can catch up on what you missed?" she enquires, and for a moment, Rachel's too shocked to speak. She wonders what possible motive Cassandra could have for helping her, because there's no way she'd do something like this out of the kindness of her heart. Most of the time, Rachel isn't even sure she has one.

"It's OK, Schwimmer. Forget I asked," Cassandra says acerbically, after the silence stretches on for several seconds.

"No! That'd be great. I'd really... I'd really appreciate it," Rachel informs her haltingly, because she doesn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I mean, if you're sure you can spare the time?"

"Well, I guess that depends on how long it takes you to play catch-up."

Cassandra eyes her critically, and then gestures for her to move to the centre of the room.

"Your ankle isn't bothering you anymore?" she clarifies, and Rachel shakes her head.

"No, it's fine," she reassures her, wondering if the relief on Cassandra's face is just the product of wishful thinking.

"You're lucky it was just a bruise," Miss July informs her, brusquely. "You need to learn to focus more, Schwimmer, to tune out all of the distractions. Whatever's happening in your personal life, you can't afford to bring it into the studio with you."

"You're right," Rachel says, incensed by her teacher's hypocrisy, "From now on I'll be sure to leave all of my _baggage_ at the door." She throws a pointed look in Cassandra's direction, and Cassandra can't meet her steely gaze without flinching.

"Look, Schwimmer, I'm sorry if I offended your delicate sensibilities the other morning, but if you actually thought there was a hope in hell of us - "

"I didn't come here to listen to you insult me, so if that's all you're planning to do, I'd rather work alone," Rachel interjects, because she can't bear to hear this. Not now.

Cassandra stares at her, obviously taken aback by her abrasiveness, but then her expression shifts and suddenly she's the picture of professionalism.

She shows Rachel the rest of the routine, and then sets about drilling it home, forcing Rachel to start from scratch and perform it over and over again until her legs feel like lead and she's not sure how much longer she'll be able to stand upright. Still, Rachel can't complain, not really, because there's nothing untoward about Cassandra's behaviour. She's not being insulting, she's keeping her hands to herself, and Rachel can admittedly feel the difference that her feedback is making. She can see it, too, and she catches a glimpse of her new-and-improved form in the mirror as she finishes a set of cramp rolls.

"Good," Cassandra says, nodding her approval. "Now do it again."

Rachel's legs are starting to tremble with the relentless exertion, but she does as she's told, refusing to beg for a reprieve even if it means keeling over with exhaustion.

"OK, that's enough," Miss July tells her after forty minutes of high-octane torture, and Rachel collapses into a panting heap, reaching for her water bottle. She gingerly rubs her ankle, wincing, and Cassandra regards her suspiciously.

"I thought you said that wasn't an issue anymore?"

Before Rachel can stop her, Miss July sits down in front of her, pulling Rachel's foot onto her lap and untying her shoe laces. Rachel tries not to yelp when Cassandra unceremoniously yanks off her shoe and pulls off her sock, revealing a discoloured ankle that's visibly swollen.

"Why the hell didn't you say something?" she reprimands her, cautiously examining the injury.

"Because I was finally doing something right for once," Rachel retorts, sounding a little more vitriolic than she intended to. She tries to move away, but Cassandra won't let her.

"Stay still," she commands, but her touch is more temperate than her tone. Rachel's eyelids flutter shut when Cassandra begins gently massaging her ankle, flexing Rachel's foot as she expertly manipulates the muscles surrounding it. It hurts like hell to begin with, but Rachel doesn't have the energy to pull away. She just groans, and tries not to think about how soft - and skilful - her teacher's hands are.

"So, are you... are you going home for the holidays?" Miss July asks her, and Rachel gets the feeling that she could care less about her response, she's just trying to distract her from the pain.

Rachel shakes her head, but she can't help but smile as she reveals her plans.

"Actually, I'm going on a cruise. With my Dads."

"Your Dads?" Cassandra echoes in obvious amusement. "Are we talking about an Elton John and David Furnish type of situation here?"

She starts to laugh, and Rachel's so enchanted with the sound, it takes her a moment to realise that she should probably be offended.

"What's wrong with that?" she demands, but Cassandra shakes her head, still smiling.

"Nothing! It just... it explains a lot, that's all. I should have known you were raised on a diet of camp and cabaret."

"And I won my first dancing competition when I was three months old," Rachel informs her, and this time, Cassandra actually guffaws.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," she cackles, but then she turns quizzical eyes in Rachel's direction. "How does that even _work_, Schwimmer?"

Rachel shrugs. "I don't know. But my Dads still have the trophy," she admits, with an embarrassed giggle.

"They must be so proud of you," Cassandra observes, and at first Rachel thinks she's being sarcastic, but then she sees the wistful expression on her teacher's face.

"They are," she says softly, and Cassandra offers her a melancholy smile.

"That's nice, Schwim."

Deciding to take advantage of Cassandra's affable mood, Rachel turns curious eyes in her teacher's direction. "What about you? Do you have any plans for Christmas?"

Cassandra shrugs. "Nothing concrete."

"So you're not spending it with your family?"

Rachel regrets the words as soon as they're out of her mouth, because Cassandra's hands stiffen against her ankle and she looks like she's just been slapped in the face.

"I'm sorry," Rachel hastens to add, "That's none of my business."

She says the words before Miss July has a chance to, and they lapse into a strained silence.

"I don't have a family," Cassandra informs her bluntly, a few moments later, "My Dad walked out on us when I was a kid, and I lost..." her voice falters for a second, but she quickly regains her composure, "I lost my mother to cancer just after I graduated from here."

"Oh my gosh. That must have been awful," Rachel laments, although a part of her is amazed that Cassandra's actually confiding in her. "Were you close?"

Rachel gets her answer when Cassandra turns away from her, and Rachel can see her jaw working overtime as she wrestles with her emotions.

"Let's just say, I'm glad she wasn't around to watch me become a 'YouTube joke.'" Cassandra clears her throat, but her voice is still hoarse with repressed grief. "I would've hated to disappoint her."

Rachel's own eyes well with tears as she lays a comforting hand on her teacher's arm, brushing her thumb back and forth against Cassandra's wrist.

"Cassandra, I'm so sorry," she says softly, but Miss July pulls away from her, shrugging with affected nonchalance.

"Well, you know what they say: shit happens. Especially to me." Her throat bobs up and down, but she chokes out a hollow laugh. "Anyway," she concludes, sucking in a ragged breath, "I was an only child." She regards Rachel with a wry smile, "And I'd be willing to bet that you are, too."

Rachel narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, but she can't help but laugh when she sees her teacher's knowing expression.

"Yeah, I thought so." Cassandra smirks, and then she pulls away, patting Rachel lightly on the knee. "Better?" she asks, and Rachel experimentally rolls her ankle, breaking into a relieved smile when she realises that it doesn't even hurt anymore.

"_So_ much better," she agrees, accepting Cassandra's hand as her teacher helps her to her feet. "Thank you."

"Well, now you owe me for the massage _and_ the private tuition. I'm thinking a hundred bucks ought to cover it."

Rachel's mouth falls open, and Cassandra starts laughing all over again.

"Jesus Christ, Schwimmer, I'm_ joking_. You make it too easy sometimes."

Rachel gives her a playful shove, and then belatedly remembers that this woman is still her teacher. Fortunately, Cassandra doesn't seem to mind.

"I should... I should probably go," Rachel hedges, secretly hoping that Miss July will give her an incentive to stay.

She doesn't, and Rachel swallows a disappointed sigh, reluctantly gathering her things together. The thought of her teacher being alone at Christmas with only a bottle of rum for company pains her more than it probably should, given everything that Cassandra has put her through, but Rachel knows she can't give in to the keening ache in her chest. She heads for the door, and tells herself not to ruin this uneasy alliance by doing something stupid, like turning around and launching herself into Cassandra's arms; kissing the living daylights out of her until she finally concedes that their attraction is mutual.

"Hey, Schwimmer?" Cassandra calls after her, and Rachel whirls around, regarding her expectantly.

"Don't put that cruise-ship singer out of a job, OK?"

It's not what she's hoping for, but the small smile that's playing on Cassandra's lips is more than enough to sustain her for now.

Rachel breaks into a broad grin.

"Don't worry, Miss July, I'll save my A-game for you," she assures her, and she can tell from the way Cassandra's expression darkens that she definitely picked up on the innuendo.


	6. Chapter 6

Cassie has a crowd of people she likes to party with, but when they step off the dance floor, she can only stand so much of their 'mwah-mwah' lovey-dovey bullshit before she wants to scream. They tell her that she's fabulous, that she'll always be a star to them, and it means nothing because she hears the way they bitch and moan about everyone as soon as their backs are turned. They pretend to be interested in her life for the thirty seconds it takes them to get out of the cab and into the club, but really they're just enmeshed in their own melodrama. Everyone seems so shallow and self-absorbed, so fake and affected, but that's just the industry. It's full of ass-kissers, wannabes and megalomaniacs.

Sometimes, Cassie plays the game; she drinks enough to drown out that hollow feeling in her gut and she schmoozes with the cool kids like she's Madonna hitting the club scene in the 80s. Sometimes, she drinks so much, it stops feeling like an act and she starts to wonder if she's just a vapid, empty shell, too. Coming home to a deserted loft and falling into a cold bed doesn't help, because she's not sure which is the lesser of two evils; socialising with people who she can't even bring herself to call friends, or being deafened by her own solitude.

There's always Joanne, but the last time Cassie used her college roommate to ward off her loneliness, the fallout nearly ruined what was left of their friendship. Joanne, of all people, knows she's not the type to do sleepovers and brunch, but that didn't stop her from expecting more than Cassie was willing to offer. Cassie's never been able to cope with the touchy-feely stuff – being emotionally dependent on someone reeks of weakness – but, if she's honest with herself, that's not the only reason why she nipped their night of debauchery in the bud. Joanne reminds her of everything she used to be, and it makes her feel even more bitter about what she's become.

Cassie spends Christmas in her pyjamas, drinking herself into a stupor while she watches movies that she's seen a hundred times before; movies that are designed to give people false hope; movies that peddle sentimental crap about happy endings and dreams coming true and believing in something bigger and better than yourself. It makes her feel sick, and she flicks off the TV in disgust. Then she spends a couple of hours doing yoga, until the cocktail of rum and vodka finally catches up with her and she's forced to retire to bed with a vial of painkillers. She's asleep by eight thirty.

On Boxing Day, she tries to cure her hangover with a shopping spree that she can't really afford, and comes home laden with so many bags, she actually considers forsaking her workout altogether. She cranks up the volume on her stereo, and then conducts a fashion show in front of her mirror, modelling the clothes – and the leotards - she just spent a small fortune on. She knows she can still sizzle and smoulder with the best of them (her appearance is about the only thing she takes pride in nowadays), but she has to wonder who she's really making the effort for.

She manages to hold out until 5pm before she cracks the lid on a new bottle of Malibu, but her impromptu dance party comes to an abrupt end when she finds herself slumped over the toilet, kissing goodbye to the salad she had for lunch. She can't even face the thought of eating dinner, and she curls into a foetal position on the bathroom floor, reassessing her notion of drinking in moderation.

The next day, she doesn't even bother getting out of bed, she just reaches for her laptop to catch up on the latest celebrity gossip. She logs online, and smiles for the first time in days when she sees that one Rachel Barbra Berry has added her as a friend on Facebook. Once she's finished chortling with laughter at Rachel's middle name, it suddenly occurs to her that Schwimmer's out there having the time of her life and yet she still cares enough to spare her a second thought. The booze must have really screwed with her head, because Cassie's suddenly feeling a little misty-eyed.

Her thoughts segue towards that kiss, and not for the first time, she wonders what stopped her from following through. It's not like she hasn't thrown out the rulebook a hundred times before, and doing the noble thing is usually the furthest thing from her mind. Still, there was something about that kiss; something about the emotions it evoked within her; something about the way Schwimmer looked at her in that fleeting moment after their lips met. Cassie didn't feel like she was scratching an itch or playing a game of one-upmanship, she felt like she was making a connection, and that's... unsettling, to say the least.

She gleefully denies Rachel's friend request – it is NYADA's policy, after all - but not before she checks out Schwimmer's profile and sees the pictures of her sunning herself in a two-piece bikini. Rachel looks stunning – Cassie can admit that in the privacy of her own home, at least – and she drinks in the sight of her student's long legs, toned stomach, and bronzed skin. Then her eyes fall on Rachel's pert breasts, and she unconsciously licks her lips, feeling like some kind of pervert.

Still, if she's going down this murky road, she may as well be thorough in her research. Impulsively, she Googles Rachel's name, and ends up with a YouTube link to her apparently award-winning Nationals performance. She listens to the opening bars of the song and then covers her eyes in second-hand embarrassment – because Celine Dion, really? - but then she's sucked in in spite of herself, because yes, Schwimmer's just that good. Her voice is phenomenal – Cassie feels like she's been punched in the gut by the sheer, spine-tingling power of it - and if Rachel can curb her tendency to over-emote and stop making those cringy hand gestures, she really could be one of the best performers Broadway's ever seen.

Cassie isn't thrilled at the prospect of Rachel tarnishing her legacy and undermining her achievements – after all, students aren't supposed to surpass their masters - but as she watches Rachel build up to the climax of the song; when she realises that her voice isn't going to crack under the pressure of those impossibly high notes – she can't help but feel a little impressed.

Before she knows what she's doing, Cassie's on McKinley High School's home page, loading excerpts from their production of the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_, in which – of course – Rachel played the starring role. Cassie chuckles her way through Rachel's passable rendition of 'Damn It, Janet,' and concludes that whoever was in charge of costuming should be shot. Then she begins an eager search for Rachel's version of 'Touch Me,' and can't help but feel a little disappointed when she comes up empty. She knows there's no way in hell any self-respecting high school would use that in their promotional material, but even still, she would've paid good money to see Schwimmer writhing around in ecstasy, begging to be fulfilled... and Jesus Fucking Christ, is this what her life has become?

Cassie sighs, and slams shut her laptop. She really needs to get back to work. The isolation is driving her crazy – Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_ levels of crazy - because there's no other earthly explanation as to why she just spent the past thirty minutes obsessing over Rachel Berry. She finally resigns herself to devising lesson plans for the upcoming semester, and choreographs routines until she's dead on her feet and too tired to think.

* * *

On New Year's Eve, while everyone else is descending on Times Square and enjoying their last few hours of freedom, Cassie books a ticket to see the 8pm screening of _Les Miserables _at an obscure Arts Theatre across town. She knows the film's bound to fall short of the stage production, but at least it offers a reprieve from the saccharine shit that's been clogging up the airwaves over Christmas. If she's lucky, the place will be deserted, and she can brood in peace.

After getting reacquainted with the shower, she throws on a new pair of jeans and a thick woollen sweater, adding a scarf and gloves to ward off the cold. The subway's so rammed with exuberant idiots, it's almost enough to make her consider turning around and heading home, but she grits her teeth and endures the jostling elbows and drunken propositions, wondering what the hell these people have to be so happy about.

Just like she expected, Cassie walks into an empty theatre and has her pick of seats. She opts for the back row, and sits centre stage, drumming her fingers impatiently against the arm rest as she waits for the assortment of mind-numbing trailers to play out. Her attention's momentarily diverted by the arrival of a large group, and she sighs when their high-spirited voices cut through the quietude.

Then she hears a familiar laugh, and freezes in a tableau of dismay, because there's no way – no fucking _way_ - that obnoxious braying belongs to who she thinks it does. Fate can't possibly be that cruel.

Cassie squints into the dim lighting, and nearly breaks out in hives when her worst fears are confirmed. Schwimmer's back from her holiday and standing no more than twenty feet away from her. Even better still, she has an entourage, and Cassie doesn't need a crystal ball to determine that the two men standing alongside her are her fathers - she can tell just by the size of their noses. The kid from the showcase is there, too – Kurt, if she remembers rightly – and then there's a bald guy who looks like he's been kidnapped from the lumberjack yard and coerced into coming along.

Cassie hunches down in her seat and pulls her scarf up around her ears, praying that she goes unnoticed, but her heart sinks when Twinkle Toes clocks her from across the room.

She hears a faint, "Hey, isn't that...?" and then suddenly Schwimmer's staring straight at her, looking every bit as stunned as Cassie feels.

"Miss July?" Rachel ventures in evident disbelief, and when Rachel's fathers turn to regard her in full Mother Bear mode, Cassie considers vaulting over the row of seats in front of her and sprinting towards the exit. She offers Rachel a half-hearted wave, and resists the urge to groan when Schwimmer jogs up the stairwell to join her. To her horror, the others follow suit, ignoring the sea of empty seats in front of them in favour of heading towards the back row.

Making sure Schwimmer's parents are still out of ear-shot, Cassie heaves a long-suffering sigh.

"Schwimmer," she drawls, regarding Rachel with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "We really have to stop meeting like this." She lowers her voice to a harsh whisper. "You're starting to give off that whole Glenn-Close-in-'Fatal Attraction' vibe."

"I'm sorry; I never saw that movie," Rachel informs her innocently, "It was released before I was born."

Cassie narrows her eyes, because she knows damn well that Schwimmer's making less-than-favourable intimations about her age.

"Are your Dads going to cold-clock me with that umbrella?" she mutters, and Rachel bursts out laughing.

"Well, your favourite pastime is being mean to me, and they're very protective," she says thoughtfully, but when she sees the anxious expression on Cassie's face, her laughter starts anew. "But don't worry, I haven't told them about us."

"There isn't an _'us,'_" Cassie reminds her bluntly, and for a second, Rachel looks hurt. Then her expression turns into an unreadable mask.

"Fine," she snaps. "Just... be nice. If you even know how."

Cassie vows to charm the pants off Schwimmer's parents just to spite her, and plasters on her best imitation of a polite smile.

"So, _Rachel_..." she says pointedly, and Schwimmer stares at her as though she's starring in her very own version of Jekyll and Hyde, "You're looking... well. How was your trip?"

"It was amazing," Rachel gushes, reluctantly playing along. She sends an adoring look in her fathers' direction, but then she turns her attention back to Cassie, holding her gaze for just a fraction too long. "But I'm glad to be back on dry land."

"So glad, she dragged us to the theatre as soon as we docked," one of her fathers says with an indulgent smile. "We took Rachel to see her first production of _Les Mis_ when she was six years old," he informs Cassie, as if she actually cares. "She was enthralled right from the start, and she's been obsessed ever since."

Cassandra bites back the impulse to tell them that they've created a monster, and makes a valiant effort to keep on smiling. "That's... nice," she offers, blandly, and Rachel ducks her head in embarrassment.

Schwimmer's Dad steps forward, holding out his hand.

"I'm Hiram Berry. And you must be..."

Cassie shoots a murderous look in Rachel's direction, steeling herself for the inevitable tirade. She's expecting something along the lines of,_"the evil harridan who's been terrorising our precious princess,"_ but instead he says,

"The dance teacher our daughter can't stop raving about."

Cassie's taken aback for a moment, but then she laughs, turning mocking eyes in Rachel's direction.

"Aw, really, _Rachel_? You've been raving about me?"

Schwimmer looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole, and Cassie winks at Kurt, who looks entirely too amused by this turn of events.

"About your _dancing,_" Rachel clarifies, and they share a loaded look. Rachel's lips start to curl upwards, and Cassandra can see that she's holding back a smile; a secretive kind of smile that makes it clear they're communicating on a different level to everyone else. Cassandra feels warmth kindling in the pit of her stomach, before she hastily looks away.

"Cassandra July," she announces, conjuring up another winning smile as she introduces herself to the rest of the group with a firm but feminine handshake. She has to fight the urge to snort incredulously when the bald guy reveals himself to be Kurt's father, because the apple fell pretty far from the tree with that one. In fact, it rolled all the way down the freakin' hill.

"So, are you waiting for someone, Miss July?" Kurt asks her curiously, and Cassie hesitates, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"No, I'm here..." she pulls a face, "_On My Own._"

Everyone laughs at her feeble attempt at a joke, but Cassie hates the way Schwimmer's looking at her; like she's some kind of pitiful charity case.

"You should join us," Rachel's other father – LeRoy - urges, and Cassie starts shaking her head before he even finishes the sentence.

"That's sweet, thank you," she tells him, with a smile that's becoming increasingly strained, "But I'm fine where I am. I'm sure Sch...Rachel doesn't want me infringing on her time with you."

"Don't be silly," Hiram chips in, wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulders. "You don't mind, do you, pumpkin?"

Rachel regards her with what looks suspiciously like a triumphant smirk. "No, you're more than welcome to tag along, Miss July."

Tag along? That cocky little cow. Cassie glances at Kurt, whose expression is practically screaming, "oh no, she diii'nt!" Clearly he can't wait for the shit to hit the fan.

"Please; call me Cassandra," Cassie informs Rachel through gritted teeth, hoping that her thin-lipped smile conveys just how much she's going to make her pay for this when they're done.

"So Cassandra, tell me, is Rachel dancing circles around the other kids in her class?" LeRoy enquires, obviously expecting an answer in the affirmative.

Schwimmer glances at her uneasily, biting her lip, and it's tragically apparent that she can't bear to fall off the pedestal her doting fathers have placed her on.

"She certainly... keeps me on my toes," Cassie hedges, with a barely detectable hint of sarcasm, and Rachel's shoulders slump with relief. She's practically beaming with gratitude, and Cassie can't help but smile at her.

"Isn't she something?" Hiram enthuses, planting a sloppy kiss on the crown of Schwimmer's head.

"Oh, she's something, all right," Cassie agrees, and when she looks at Rachel, her eyes are sparkling with the knowledge of everything that's transpired between them; things that Schwimmer wouldn't dream of sharing with her fathers. They stare at each other for a moment, until Rachel blushes and looks away. Cassie notices LeRoy watching them with a curious expression on his face, and she hastily averts her gaze, breathing a sigh of relief when the lights finally fade to black.

"The movie's about to start," Cassandra points out, gesturing towards the screen like it's her salvation. Kurt claps his hands excitedly, and Schwimmer's cheer squad situate themselves beside her. Apparently, she's stuck spending the evening on the Island of Misfit Toys.

Of course, Schwimmer sits right next to her, just to enhance the torture. The last time they were this close, Cassandra was debating the merits of fucking her student on the floor of the dance studio.

"Well, this is awkward," Cassie murmurs, and her point is only compounded when they both move to use the arm rest at the same time. Their hands collide, and it takes all of Cassandra's self-restraint not to react to the jolt of electricity that races up her arm.

Big brown eyes turn to regard her apologetically. "I know. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," Cassie counters under her breath, "You're loving every minute of this." She leans a little closer, until her lips are level with Rachel's ear. "Do you have any idea how exhausting it is trying to be nice to you, Schwimmer?"

"Then maybe you should consider working on your stamina," Rachel whispers, with the barest hint of a smirk. She knows full well that Cassie isn't in a position to wipe that smug smile off her face, and Cassie's jaw twitches with barely suppressed rage as she finally turns her attention to the screen.

Fifteen minutes into the film, Rachel reaches for a bag of Twizzlers, and Cassie fights the urge to strangle her when the rustling reverberates around the theatre.

"You want one?" Rachel asks, waving the confectionery in Cassandra's face. "They're vegan."

Cassandra shakes her head, screwing up her face in distaste.

"I don't eat that crap," she says quietly, "And neither should you."

"Well, I don't make a habit of drinking alcohol, so..." Rachel trails off, shrugging, and Cassandra glares at her.

"Are you trying to make some kind of point there, _pumpkin_?" she snarks, and Rachel bites back another infuriating smile.

"Shhhh," Kurt hisses at them, and Cassie flushes, because Schwimmer's somehow managed to turn her into one of _those_ people; the ignorant, obnoxious assholes who think nothing of talking their way through a production. She abruptly shuts up, sneaking a glance at Rachel's fathers, who thankfully seem oblivious to the tension between them.

Cassie usually struggles to get engrossed in a movie - she gets too caught up in critiquing the actors' performances, and imagining all the things she could've done better if she was playing their parts herself – but Fantine's descent into poverty and prostitution is harrowing, and Anne Hathaway's brutally raw rendition of _'I Dreamed A Dream' _is one of the most powerful things Cassie has ever seen, on stage or screen. Usually she can keep her emotions in check, but she can't seem to swallow the empathy that's bubbling up inside of her and clawing at the back of her throat, and mid-way through the song, she knows that fighting the tears is futile. Her chest feels like it's going to crumble under the weight of her grief.

She sneaks a glance at Schwimmer, and smiles in spite of herself when she sees that Rachel's already falling to pieces. She looks like she's having some kind of religious experience, and she's doing a pretty good imitation of a free-standing water feature. Sensing that she's being watched, Rachel offers her a smile that's so tremulous, it's actually kind of heart-breaking, and Cassie abruptly looks away before she does something idiotic, like try to hug her.

"_I had a dream my life would be; so different from this hell I'm living,"_ Anne whispers brokenly, and that's it; Cassie's hand is flying to her mouth and she's choking back a sob. She turns away from the others, using the sleeve of her sweater to hastily wipe away her tears, and then she chances a glance at everyone else, breaking into a sheepish grin when she sees that they're all emotional wrecks, too. Burt's handing his distraught son a handkerchief while discreetly swiping at his own eyes. Hiram's sobbing into LeRoy's shoulder, and Rachel... for a moment, Cassandra actually forgets about her own heartache, because there's something about the look on Schwimmer's face that makes her stomach clench with concern. Rachel's back is rigid, and tears are still streaming down her cheeks. She isn't making a sound, though, and her face is taut with resolve, like she's trying to block out a memory that's too painful to confront.

Kurt seems to sense that something's wrong, too, and he wraps a comforting arm around Schwimmer's shoulders.

"It's OK. I know," he whispers sympathetically, and Rachel's face finally crumples.

"Will you excuse me for a minute?" she says, pushing past Cassie en route to the exit, and Hiram jumps up, hastily running after her.

Cassie hears him saying, _"Oh, honey, don't spare her a second thought," _before they disappear around the corner, and she turns confused eyes in Kurt's direction.

"Am I missing something?" Cassie asks him, but he's obviously a good friend, because he seems reluctant to tell her anything about Schwimmer's personal life.

"That song reminds Rachel of her mother," LeRoy informs her, with a sad smile, "Shelby recorded it for her when she was trying to wheedle her way back into Rachel's life, but Rachel turned out to be a whole lot more than she could handle. Shelby decided she didn't want a kid who was all grown up; she wanted a baby. So she adopted one, and abandoned Rachel all over again."

"Wow," Cassie breathes, wondering why she's feeling so much antipathy towards a woman she's never even met, "She sounds like a real piece of work."

LeRoy dips his head in acknowledgement, and they both cast an anxious look towards the exit.

The minutes carry on ticking by, but Cassie can't focus on the film anymore. She feels restless and agitated and can't seem to breathe properly until Schwimmer finally walks back into the room. Hiram has an arm wrapped securely around his daughter's waist, and Rachel looks tearful, but resilient.

She sits back down next to Cassie, still sniffling a little bit, and before she's really registered what she's doing, Cassie reaches out, covering Rachel's hand with her own. All thoughts of revenge are gone as she softly strokes Schwimmer's knuckles with her thumb, and Rachel looks at her, wide-eyed and confused. Cassie doesn't pull away, though, and after a moment, Schwimmer turns her palm upwards and threads their fingers together. Cassie gently squeezes her hand, and if Rachel's fathers notice, they don't say anything.

The next time Cassie moves, it's to clamp a hand over Rachel's mouth when she starts singing along with Eponine, and she can feel Schwimmer smiling broadly against her fingers.

* * *

When the closing credits start to roll, Cassie's the only one who isn't bawling her eyes out, but Rachel seems to be deriving way too much pleasure from the few tears that she does shed.

Cassie rummages around in her purse and hands out a packet of tissues, trying not to roll her eyes at her snot-soaked companions.

"Well... Happy New Year," she proclaims drily, even though there are still a couple of hours left until midnight, but it has the desired effect. They all start laughing.

"Kurt said something about going to see a ball drop?" Burt informs her, blowing his nose loudly, and Cassie grins when Kurt buries his head in his hands, "You should come with us, if you don't have other plans."

Cassie hesitates. The thought of being surrounded by so many shiny, happy people isn't exactly appealing, and the throng of revellers in Times Square is dense enough to make a crowd-surfer claustrophobic, but it's been a couple of years since she slummed it with the tourists. She tells herself that she says yes to be polite, and not because of the hopeful expression on Schwimmer's face.

They retire to the restroom, and when Rachel groans at her less-than-flattering reflection, Cassie wordlessly hands her some cleansing wipes and a bottle of mascara.

Rachel breathes a sigh of relief, shooting her a grateful smile, and sets about making herself look presentable again. Cassie dabs at her own eyes and then reapplies her lip gloss, smacking her lips together in a practised pout. She catches Schwimmer's eye in the mirror, and realises that Rachel is watching her in rapt fascination.

"See something you like?" she can't help but tease, and Rachel hastily averts her gaze.

"Wasn't Anne Hathaway amazing?" she gushes, clearly determined to change the subject. "I had no idea she was that talented."

"Me, either," Cassie agrees, granting her a momentary reprieve, "She nailed it."

"Oh, so it _is _actually possible to impress you?" Schwimmer retorts, but she looks so pathetic in all of her puffy-eyed glory, Cassie can't bring herself to say, _"not where you're concerned."_

"Listen, your Dad told me about what happened with your Mom," she ventures softly, and Schwimmer's shoulders seem to stiffen reflexively.

Cassie lays a comforting hand on her back, trying to rub the tension away. "I'm sorry, Schwim. That sucks."

Rachel just... stares at her, until Cassie heaves a sigh and pulls away.

"What?" she demands, and Rachel shakes her head with a rueful smile.

"Nothing! I just... it makes me nervous when you're nice to me," she confesses, and for some strange reason, that admission tugs at Cassie's heartstrings.

"Well, don't get used to it," Cassie warns her, and Rachel rolls her eyes in that oh-so-aggravating way.

She moves to use the facilities, and Cassie eyes her mischievously, clearing her throat.

"Would you like me to give you some privacy?" she offers, with a rakish grin, "Because I know how much you value your alone time when you're... moved by someone's performance."

Schwimmer retaliates by throwing a toilet roll at her - hard, and she catches Cassie completely off-guard. The hefty wad of tissue hits her squarely on the jaw, and Cassie barely manages to grab it before it ricochets onto the floor.

"Ow!" she protests, cradling her cheek in mock outrage as she turns to glare at Rachel.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Schwimmer sputters, and her hand flies to her mouth in consternation.

She looks so horrified, Cassie can't hold it together anymore. She starts laughing, and when Schwimmer's hesitant giggles give way to a full-blown belly-laugh, it only adds to her mirth.

"Are you OK?" Rachel asks her with an undignified snort, removing Cassie's hand so she can survey the damage. She reaches out to gently cup Cassie's cheek in her palm, but Cassie takes a step back, knowing that they can't go down this road again.

"I'll live," she says, wryly, patting Schwimmer's shoulder so she doesn't misconstrue her reticence as an outright rejection. "I'll see you outside, OK?"

Cassie thinks she's got a handle on her amusement, but then she sees the puzzled glances being sent her way when she emerges from the restroom, and realises that she's still sporting a goofy grin.

* * *

With the benefit of hindsight, Cassie wishes that she'd never opened her mouth, but she couldn't walk past the karaoke bar on West 46th Street without remarking that some people should be banned from singing altogether. The god-awful racket was an affront to her ears, but she never expected Rachel's Dads to usher her inside, vowing to teach the amateurs a lesson. Now she's nursing a Malibu and coke - which Burt insisted on buying for her – and watching them perform the campest version of _'Let It Snow'_ she's ever seen. They're swaying back and forth in time with the music, and at one point they actually start mimicking snowfall, wiggling their fingers in perfect unison. Now Cassie knows where Schwimmer gets that cloying theatricality from.

"Can't you make them stop?" she pleads, but Rachel shakes her head, looking like she's torn between pride and utter embarrassment.

"Just be grateful this place doesn't have a piano," Kurt informs her, and Cassie snickers.

"So, this is how you grew up?" she asks Schwimmer, feigning dismay. "You do realise this practically constitutes child abuse?"

Rachel narrows her eyes, and Cassie realises that she's gone too far.

"OK, OK, I'm sorry! They're... great..." she says, unconvincingly, but then she glances over at the stage again, and bursts out laughing when she sees that Hiram has opted to sing the last verse sitting in LeRoy's lap.

"Oh my God, please tell me that's not going to be me and Blaine in twenty years," Kurt laments, and Burt shakes his head despairingly.

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

Cassie cackles in amusement, and Rachel glares at her.

"You think you can do better?" she demands, and Cassie raises her eyebrows.

"Oh, Schwimmer, please. You _know_ I can."

"Come on, then." Rachel grabs her hand, dragging her through the crowd, and Cassie glances back at Kurt.

"Feel free to intervene," she yells at him, but he just laughs at her, making it clear where his loyalties really lie. Cassie vows to make him suffer when he joins her class in the upcoming semester.

"If you think I'm getting up there with you, you can think again. I'd rather claw my eyes out," Cassie shouts in the general vicinity of Schwimmer's ear, and Rachel turns around to face her.

"You want them to stop, don't you?" she counters, sounding a little bit desperate, "Because, believe me, this could go on all night."

She has a point, and the thought of Rachel's Dads launching into some obscene version of 'Santa Baby' curbs any further protests that Cassie might have. When Rachel tiptoes onto the stage and whispers something into LeRoy's ear, to Cassie's great relief, they hastily wrap up their performance. She half-heartedly joins in the crowd's applause, and paints on a smile when Hiram beams at her, handing over his microphone.

Cassie turns to ask Rachel what track they're supposed to be performing, but Schwimmer's already leaning over the karaoke machine. Cassie purses her lips, and vows that if Rachel makes her ring in the New Year by singing 'My Heart Will Go On,' she's actually going to throttle her.

Then she hears Schwimmer's song choice, and her jaw drops in disbelief.

"_Come on, babe, why don't we paint the town? And all that jazz,"_ Rachel sings, clearly delighting in beating Cassie to the punch this time around. Cassie's eyes widen when Rachel sidles over to her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"_I'm gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down...and all that jazz."_

Cassie bites her lip, feeling like some kind of glorified lap-dancing pole when Rachel slides down the length of her body. She rolls her ass into Cassie's hips on the way back up, and Cassie gapes at her like she's a mental patient that's just escaped from the asylum.

"What the hell are you _doing_?" she hisses, sending an anxious look in LeRoy and Hiram's direction. She expects them to be horrified, but they look positively ecstatic. In fact, they're clapping their hands in delight.

OK. Well, fine. If Schwimmer thinks she can push all of her buttons without expecting any payback just because her parents happen to be watching them, then she's going to have to learn the hard way.

"_Start the car, I know a whoopee spot,"_ Cassie abruptly cuts in, trailing a hand over Schwimmer's thigh as she presses up against her, "_Where the gin is cold and the piano's hot..." _

"_It's just a noisy hall, where there's a nightly brawl - "_

"_And all..." _Cassie loops an arm around Schwimmer's neck,_ "that..." _She rests her other hand on Schwimmer's coccyx, pulling her close,_ "Jazz,"_ she concludes, curling her leg around Schwimmer's in an intimate move they perfected in their Argentine Tango class. She adds a breathy quality to her voice as she draws out the final note, and yeah, Rachel can see that she means business now. Cassie can feel Schwimmer's legs trembling when she realises that this is the closest they've ever been, and Cassie's feeling a little unsteady herself.

"If you keep looking at me like that, your fathers are going to have me arrested," she murmurs into Rachel's hair during the instrumental, and Rachel laughs, wrapping an arm around her waist in what Cassie assumes is a peace offering.

Cassie inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, because she's not sure how much more of this back-and-forth she can take before she finally gives up the fight and kisses Schwimmer senseless.

They sing the next verse as a duet, and instead of trying to overpower each other, they let their voices blend in a range of intricate harmonies. There's something almost instinctual about the way they perform together, and Cassie's surprised by Schwimmer's ability to respond to her cues outside of the classroom. Their dance routine is completely unchoreographed, but they move together as if they've been rehearsing it for days, and Rachel breaks into a cheek-splitting smile as they twirl effortlessly around the stage.

They end the song back-to-back, pressing close as they sink to their knees, and it's only then that Cassie realises the noise in the room has died down to a low hum. Everyone's staring at them, completely transfixed, and when the music fades out, the crowd erupts into ear-splitting applause. It's not the Imperial Theatre, but she'll take it, and Cassie grins at Rachel, happy to be sharing the limelight for once in her life. They walk off stage to a standing ovation, and Cassie's hand automatically gravitates to the small of Schwimmer's back as they move through the crowd. She starts laughing when she realises that the obnoxious wolf-whistling is coming from none other than Hiram himself, and Kurt's staring at her in open-mouthed awe. LeRoy doesn't look quite so impressed, though, and Cassie flinches away from his penetrating gaze when he looks at her like he knows all of her secrets.

* * *

When the countdown to midnight finally begins, Rachel jumps up and down, squealing over the din of the crowd in Times Square. She's spent the past fifteen minutes talking non-stop, raving about how amazing it is to be here, and Cassie wishes she could share her enthusiasm. It's been a long time since she's looked at this city with a sense of wide-eyed wonderment, and as much as she tries to feed off the crowd's energy, she's just not feeling it.

When the clock finally strikes twelve, Rachel launches herself into her Dads' arms, and Kurt tearfully reaches for his father.

Cassie hangs back, watching everyone around her hugging and kissing their loved ones. A couple of years ago, she might have felt envious. Now, she just feels alone, and the rousing chorus of Auld Lang Syne only succeeds in rubbing salt into the wound. Still, she tells herself, it could be worse. She could be Fantine.

"This city chews people up and spits them back out again," LeRoy observes quietly, startling Cassie out of her melancholy reverie. She nods wordlessly, hastily blinking back her tears.

"Promise me you won't let that happen to my daughter," he says, with an intensity that makes Cassie squirm. "Promise me you'll take care of her."

She shakes her head, scuffing her shoe against the sidewalk. "I'm the last person in the world you should be asking to do that," she admits, with a bitter edge to her tone. "I can't even take care of myself. And I'm... I'm not a very nice person. I eat kids like Rachel for breakfast," she informs him, but he squeezes her shoulder, offering her a kind smile.

"Well, she seems to like you anyway."

As if to illustrate his point, Schwimmer comes bouncing over to her.

"I'm going to hug you now, OK?" she announces, tentatively wrapping her arms around Cassie's waist. It feels awkward at first, and Cassie doesn't know where to put her hands, but eventually, she relaxes into the embrace, holding Schwimmer tightly against her.

"Happy New Year," Rachel murmurs into the crook of her neck, running her hands over the expanse of Cassie's back. Cassie closes her eyes, clinging to her convulsively.

"Happy New Year," Cassie whispers into her hair, cradling Schwimmer's head against her shoulder. When Rachel's arms tighten around her waist, she dares to hope that - this time - maybe it might be.


	7. Chapter 7

There's nothing Cassie hates more than being forced to attend one of Carmen's "inspirational" assemblies. New Year, new start, new opportunities... blah, blah, blah. She didn't even buy this spiel when she was an idealistic freshman herself, and now it's an effort to sit through the platitudes without heckling. Schwimmer seems to be lapping it up, though - she looks like one of those nodding dogs that cab drivers have on their dashboards, eagerly expressing her agreement with everything Carmen says. Not that Cassie's making a habit of watching her from afar, or anything.

"Some of you have already made huge inroads since you've been here," Carmen says, and she favours Rachel with a benevolent smile. Cassie knows that look all too well. She used to be on the receiving end of it herself. She's pretty sure she didn't react by puffing out her chest and preening her hair, though.

Schwimmer's simpering smile used to make her skin crawl, but now Cassie can't help but wonder what goes on inside that pretty little head of hers. Schwimmer's inflated self-esteem and obnoxious sense of entitlement have always rubbed her up the wrong way – Cassie knew she had her hands full as soon as Rachel informed her, _"I'm gonna keep getting better until I'm the best you've ever seen"_ and actually sounded like she meant it - but at the same time, it's painfully obvious that Schwimmer's a people-pleaser who wants to be revered by her teachers and adored by her peers. Her desperate need for approval is going to be her downfall - she needs to figure out that there's no happy medium; either you're the best at what you do and everyone hates you for it, or you're a sheep who's destined for the chorus line.

Still, Schwimmer can't afford to be complacent, either, because there's nothing more repugnant than someone who believes their own hype, and she's got a long way to go before she's earned the right to strut around NYADA like she owns the place. That's why Cassie's made it her mission to corral Schwimmer's ego; to give her a reality check every once in a while. She has to admit, though, that when those luminous brown eyes look at her like her opinion really matters – as if her approval means the world – it's hard to keep on hitting below the belt. She's painfully aware of the fact that there's a sweet, impressionable kid lurking beneath the Diva-in-Training, and the more she gets to know Rachel, the more she kind of... likes her.

Cassie's disturbing train of thought comes to an abrupt end when she sees Schwimmer standing up and moving towards the stage, and she snaps back to attention, catching the tail-end of Carmen's announcement.

"...the student who secured an audition for an off-Broadway musical in her first semester and went on to win our Winter Showcase. This is the standard you should all be aspiring to, ladies and gentleman. This is... Miss Rachel Berry."

Doesn't Carmen know by now that the higher you build them up, the harder they fall?

Cassie rolls her eyes at the unnecessary fanfare, but then she realises that Schwimmer is staring at her intently, looking like a woman on a mission. Cassie cocks an eyebrow, trying to hide her anticipation beneath the guise of apathy, and wonders what god-awful power ballad they're going to be subjected to this time around.

When Schwimmer starts singing, it's hard not to be completely spellbound by her voice, but Cassie spends the first couple of bars trying to place the song. It's way too operatic for her tastes, but then she hears the lyrics:

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses __  
__Completely succumbed to me __  
__Now you are here with me __  
__No second thoughts __  
__You've decided __  
__Decided. _

Cassie clears her throat, glancing behind her as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Rachel's attention is still focused solely on her, and Cassie's relieved that she's sitting adjacent to the aisle running down the middle of the room, because otherwise it might look like she's being... serenaded or something. Which she isn't. Because Schwimmer would have to be suicidal to do that.

_I have come here,  
Hardly knowing the reason why  
In my mind I've already imagined  
Our bodies entwining  
Defenseless and silent,  
Now I am here with you  
No second thoughts  
I've decided  
Decided. _

Is she fucking serious with this? Cassie unconsciously wets her lips as Rachel's voice builds to that dizzying crescendo that had Carmen all aflutter from the second she met her. Cassie isn't that easily impressed, though, and she twiddles her thumbs, doing her damnedest to look bored out of her mind.

It's not easy. Rachel's eyes are alight with the fiery intensity behind her words, and she's looking at Cassie through lowered lashes, with that come-hither, "I'm just begging to be deflowered" expression that made it nearly impossible to get through her _'Oops I Did It Again'_ performance without wishing that Schwimmer was straddling her instead of that table. Cassie didn't think it was possible to be jealous of an inanimate object, but watching Rachel writhe around on top of that desk made her reassess a lot of things.

And now, of course, Cassie's picturing Rachel in see-through tights and slutty lingerie, towing the line between sexed-up dance routine and indecent exposure. She won't be forgetting the sight of Schwimmer throwing her head back and spreading her legs anytime soon - it made Sharon Stone in _Basic Instinct _look positively puritanical - and then there were those obscene faces she was pulling, like she was starring in a low-budget porno, and... no. Just, no. She's not going to think about that. She's not going to think about how, when she was screwing Brody, the only thing that really got her rocks off was imagining how far he'd gotten with Schwimmer; if he'd kissed Rachel like he was kissing her; if he'd made it past second base... and, Jesus Christ, she can't do this. Not here. Not now.

_Past the point of no return __  
__No going back now __  
__Our passion-play has now at last begun. _

_Past all thought of right or wrong __  
__One final question __  
__How long should we two wait before we're one? _

Schwimmer's voice is raising the rafters now, and Cassie's starting to sweat. Her hair's sticking to the back of her neck, and there's no way she's going to make it out of here without leaving a wet patch on this crappy plastic chair. She's going to make Schwimmer pay for this - in her office, on the piano, hell, in the fucking prop cupboard if needs be.

Still, she's beginning to think that's precisely what Schwimmer wants, and it's clear that the small-town girl is starting to learn the tricks of the trade. It's enough to make Cassie reconsider her earlier musings. Rachel Berry is not sweet, and she is most definitely not innocent. She's a manipulative little tease who knows exactly how to play her. Still, there's no way Cassie's conceding this round. She will not be whipped into a lust-addled frenzy by a song straight out of Michael Crawford's Greatest Hits.

When Schwimmer hits the final note, beating it into submission, Cassie doesn't join in the audience's applause. She just high-tails it out of there and heads straight to her office, locking the door so no-one can interrupt her while she attends to a personal emergency.

When they cross paths in the corridor later on that day, Rachel asks Cassie if she enjoyed her performance. She's pretending to be coy, but Cassie can see the expectant gleam in her eyes. She knows that Schwimmer's hoping she'll drag her into the nearest empty classroom and _show _her appreciation, but Cassie's determined not to give in. So she tells Schwimmer she wasn't a fan of the song-choice, and tries not to feel guilty when she sees the look of disappointment on her face.

* * *

That night, Cassie dreams that they're in the dance studio, singing an increasingly acrimonious version of 'Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better.' Cassie's blood is boiling when Schwimmer proclaims that she can sing any note higher and hold it for longer, because a part of her knows that it's true, but she's not about to admit defeat. They're standing toe-to-toe, screaming the lyrics at each other, until Cassie punctuates the _"yes I can!" _by grabbing Schwimmer by the fabric of her leotard and pulling her into a searing kiss. She cups Rachel's ass with one hand, thrusting her thigh between Schwimmer's taut legs, and then she threads her free hand through Schwimmer's hair, raking her nails bluntly across the back of her neck. Their tongues clash, and it turns into another battle for supremacy, but in this arena, Cassie always comes out on top. She kisses the last bit of defiance out of her student, until Rachel is moaning wantonly and pleading with Cassie to take charge.

Victory tastes so damn good... and so, Cassie discovers as she settles between Rachel's quaking thighs, does Schwimmer.

When Cassie wakes up, she's soaked to the skin and gasping for air, and the bedsheets are a tangled mess. It is, hands down, the best dream she's ever had, and - sexual frustration aside - she feels kind of giddy. She heads straight for the shower, hoping the freezing cold spray will wash away the asinine grin on her face.

* * *

Kurt proves to be a welcome addition to her class. It's almost as if _someone_ has been giving him private lessons on how to evade her wrath - but Cassie can't help but resent him a little bit anyway, even though he clearly idolises her. He and Schwimmer come as a package deal – they partner up during every exercise and Cassie frequently has to reprimand them for gossiping like a pair of secretaries at the water cooler, but now it's harder to single Schwimmer out for special attention. She tells Kurt that he should find a new partner, because Rachel's a dead weight who's only going to drag him down, but Kurt just laughs at her and says that he'll take his chances.

The Sugar Plum Fairy and his little fag-hag are presenting a united front against her tyranny, and when Cassie does rip in to Rachel, Kurt looks at her like he knows what's _really_ fuelling her outburst... which is ridiculous, because it's not like Cassie criticises Schwimmer's stance just so she can touch her, or says something cruel just to get her all riled up. That would be petty. And desperate.

Schwimmer must be a glutton for punishment, though, because she's taken to staying behind after class on her own, and it's almost like she misses the good old days, too. Sometimes, she makes mistakes that are so flagrant, Cassie swears she's doing it on purpose, just to elicit a reaction. Cassie ignores her at first, but it doesn't take long before she feels compelled to punish Schwimmer for her crimes against dance – which usually involves getting up-close and personal to demonstrate the correct technique – and Schwimmer leans into her touch and regards her with a self-satisfied smile that clearly says, _"I know you're only pretending to hate me." _For some reason, it doesn't bother Cassie nearly as much as it should.

Sometimes, Schwimmer just sits and watches her work, and instead of telling her to stop gawking and take a hike, Cassie can't help but show off a little, giving Rachel an insight into what she's capable of when she's not chaperoning the rookies. Schwimmer watches her like she's memorising her every move and mentally taking notes, but sometimes, when Cassie catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, she sees the unabashed adoration in her student's attentive gaze, and it scares the ever-living crap out of her.

She shouldn't be encouraging this, because she knows it's only going to end in tears (not for her, of course), but that doesn't stop her from beckoning Rachel over at the end of every session to assist with her cool-down. Who needs Yoga when she has Schwimmer to stretch her out? Cassie's not shy about revealing the full extent of her flexibility, and she can see Schwimmer's imagination working overtime as she pictures all the positions they could get themselves into. There's a point where Rachel's touch stops feeling apprehensive and starts feeling proprietary, and now Schwimmer doesn't hesitate before she eases Cassie's legs apart; she doesn't blink when she's pushing down on Cassie's ass until her hips are sandwiched against the floor. In fact, if the rapturous look on her face is any indication, it's the highlight of her freakin' day.

One afternoon, when Schwimmer's holding Cassie's leg at a painfully obtuse angle, her free hand starts to wander, and the firm press of her palm against Cassie's hip starts to feel more like a caress. Her thumb strokes back and forth, dangerously close to inching beneath the fabric of Cassie's chemise, and Cassie seizes hold of Rachel's wrist, shooting her a look that clearly says, _"you do that again, and I won't be held accountable for my actions."_ Schwimmer hastily pulls away, and Cassie can see that her fingertips are trembling.

Benji chooses that moment to walk in on them, and Cassie doesn't know why she feels like they've been caught in a compromising position. She steps away from Schwimmer, folding her arms across her chest, and Benji glances back and forth between them, looking a little embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Miss July, I didn't mean to interrupt," he ventures haltingly, and Cassie shakes her head.

"You're not interrupting!" she reassures him, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "You know you're always welcome here, Benji." She gestures towards Rachel, who's watching their exchange with avid curiosity. "And don't mind Schwimmer over there. I'm just giving her some extra pointers. She needs all the help she can get."

"Actually - " Rachel attempts to cut in, but Cassie glowers at her until she shuts her mouth. Then she turns her attention back to Benji, rolling her eyes and regarding him ruefully.

"I guess they can't all be naturals like you." She sighs, smiling at her former TA. "How are rehearsals going?"

"They're going great! I mean, the choreographer's giving us a hard time and some of the guys are struggling to keep up - "

"So the monkeys are dropping like flies?" Cassie interjects, and Benji laughs.

"You could say that, yeah. But Stefan hasn't cut me from the production yet, so I think I'm doing OK."

Seeing Schwimmer's bewildered expression, Cassie decides to enlighten her.

"Benji landed a role in _Wicked_ a couple of months ago. He's going to be the best damn flying monkey Broadway's ever seen," she declares proudly, and Benji flushes with pleasure.

"Only because I have the best teacher in the business," he counters, and Cassie waves off his praise with a self-deprecating smile.

Schwimmer looks like she's about to vomit.

"Wow! That's really great, Benji. You must be so excited," she says, but her voice sounds noticeably strained.

"I am!" Benji exclaims, completely oblivious to Schwimmer's insincerity. "That's why I came here, actually. I wanted to give you these," he says, handing a pair of tickets to Cassie.

"They're front-row seats for opening night," he explains, shyly. "I mean, don't feel like you have to come, or anything. It's just, you know... in case you haven't got anything better to do," he hastens to add.

"Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss it for the world," Cassie informs him, pulling Benji into a warm embrace. "Thank you," she concludes, with a genuine smile.

"You're welcome." Benji looks like he's going to burst with happiness, but then he gestures to the door. "Well, I guess I'd better get back to the grindstone. It was nice meeting you," he calls over his shoulder to Rachel.

"You, too," Schwimmer mutters, and she waits until Benji's skipped out of the studio before she stomps towards her gym bag.

"Schwimmer, are you sulking?" Cassie demands, trying not to laugh at the pissed-off expression on Rachel's face.

"I just find it interesting, that's all," Schwimmer says, and she couldn't be any more vague if she tried.

"OK, what are we talking about here? The view from the quad; Newton's Law of Physics?" Cassie retorts, arching a confrontational eyebrow.

"That you're nice to the people who fade into the background and awful to the ones who actually stand a chance of making it," Rachel observes, throwing her towel into her bag, and Cassie feels like she's been sucker-punched in the gut.

"And let me guess, you would fall into the latter category, right?" she snaps, once she's recovered from the initial blow. She grabs Rachel's arm, forcing her to meet her recriminatory gaze. "Listen, Little Miss High and Mighty, Benji worked his ass off to get that role and you don't get to judge his worth based on a two-second conversation, OK?"

"So you don't think I work every bit as hard as him?" Rachel demands, "You don't think I deserve some credit, too?"

Something finally clicks.

"Oh my God, you're jealous," Cassie crows, and her suspicions are confirmed when Rachel's cheeks turn crimson and she abruptly looks away. "Not that it's any of your business, but you know that Benji's gayer than your fathers, right?" _Or you, for that matter_, Cassie inwardly adds.

Rachel purses her lips and refuses to grace her with a response, so Cassie pokes her gently in the ribs.

"Look, if it's any consolation, I made that kid cry every week when he was a freshman. He used to hide from me in the bathroom."

Rachel sneaks a glance at her. "Really?" she ventures hopefully, and Cassie nods, smiling.

"Really. Like I keep telling you, Schwimmer, there's a method in my madness. I'm not hard on you for no reason." She loops a companionable arm around Rachel's shoulders. "And, if you're lucky..." she continues, with her tongue firmly in her cheek, "One day, you might be a flying monkey, too." She hesitates, not quite meeting Rachel's eyes. "Or, you know... Elphaba."

Rachel's radiant smile is almost worth the concession and, for a minute, Cassie glances at the tickets in her hand, debating whether to give the spare one to Schwimmer. Then she realises that would be tantamount to asking her out on a date, and the thought seems so absurd, she doesn't know whether to shudder in revulsion or laugh out loud.

* * *

"All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand!"

Cassie hovers in the doorway of her studio, trying not to choke on her repressed laughter as she watches Schwimmer reciting 'Macbeth' in front of the full-length mirror, earnestly practising her facial expressions. Right now, she's looking almost comically verklempt, gazing forlornly at her hand. It's such a dire interpretation of the scene, it's almost enough to diffuse the rush of desire that washes over her when she first sets eyes on her student.

"Drama & Theatre Arts is down the hall, Schwimmer," Cassie reminds her hapless protégée, delighting in the way Rachel visibly jumps at her unexpected interruption, "Although it looks like you might have skipped a few classes already. Like the one where they taught you how to actually act."

At least Schwimmer has the grace to look embarrassed.

"Is it that bad?" she asks self-consciously, and Cassie sets down her gym bag, throwing Rachel a look that patently says, _"yes."_

"Let's just say; I don't think the Royal Shakespeare Company's gonna come calling any time soon," she concludes, and that's putting it diplomatically. She eyes Rachel sceptically. "Lady Macbeth? Really?"

"It's iconic," Rachel protests.

"It's clichéd. And you don't have the chops to pull it off." Seeing Schwimmer's defensive expression, Cassie laughs. "What, you think I'm being bitter and jealous again? I'm serious," she informs her resolutely. "You need a little life experience before you can do justice to a role like that."

Rachel still looks like she can't decide whether Cassie's offering her words of wisdom or a poisoned chalice, so Cassie holds out her hand.

"Give it to me," she says, beckoning for Schwimmer to hand over the script. "OK; now watch and learn."

Cassie takes a deep breath, gathering her composure, and then proceeds to recite the monologue herself. Schwimmer watches her as she paces agitatedly around the room, letting remorse war with ruthlessness as she vacillates between clarity and confusion. She delivers her lines distractedly, slowly starting to unravel, and tries to lend a sense of anguished humanity to a character that's mostly unsympathetic. By the time she's finished, Schwimmer's staring at her like she hung the moon and painted the stars.

"What?" Cassie demands, when the attention gets too much to bear.

"You know how they say: those who can; do, and those who can't; teach?" Rachel ventures, and Cassie instinctively bristles, until Schwimmer lays a hand on her forearm.

"You shouldn't be teaching, Cassandra," she says, softly, and Cassie has to turn away so Rachel won't see the tears that spring to her eyes. She's touched, and she doesn't know why, because it's not like Schwimmer's opinion even matters in the big scheme of things. She's just a clueless kid with a stupid crush. Cassie doesn't know how to acknowledge the compliment without sounding like a complete sap, though, so she opts to change the subject instead.

"You do realise that you're supposed to ask me before you commandeer my studio?" she informs Rachel, wryly.

"I know. I'm sorry," Schwimmer hastens to explain, "It's just... the mirror in our bathroom is really small, and the lighting's terrible - "

"And you just _had_ to see yourself in all of your two-dimensional glory," Cassie concludes. She used to relish seeing the hurt expression on Schwimmer's face, but now it feels like she's kicking a puppy. A lovable, Labrador puppy.

"Wait here for a second," she informs Rachel, and she returns a few moments later with an anthology of female-centric monologues that was collecting dust on her bookshelf. "Take a look through these. I used them a couple of times for my audition pieces, and they might be a little more... age-appropriate."

"This is amazing, thank you!" Schwimmer exclaims, hugging the book to her chest. "I'll bring it back as soon as I'm done."

"Keep it," Cassie counters, with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "It's not like I'll ever need it again." She tries to keep her tone light, but fails miserably, and Schwimmer looks at her with an expression that's brimming with empathy.

"Anyway," Cassie hastily cuts in, blowing out a breath before Rachel can say anything, "Janet usually saves the monologues for summer. She must be feeling brave. Or maybe she's finally lost the plot."

"Oh, it's not for... I mean, she didn't..." Rachel wavers, looking like she's desperate to tell Cassie something, but then she seems to reconsider, clamping her mouth shut.

"Cat got your tongue, Schwimmer?" Cassie asks, raising an eyebrow, but Rachel shakes her head.

"No, it's nothing," she says, but she won't meet Cassie's gaze, and Cassie gets the distinct impression that she's being lied to. Her suspicions are only compounded when Schwimmer hastily makes her excuses, offering her a weak smile before she hot-foots it out of the room.

* * *

Two days later, Schwimmer doesn't show up to class, and Cassie doesn't waste any time in cornering Kurt.

"Where's your Siamese twin?" she demands, and he wilts under the intensity of her gaze.

"She has... the flu?" he ventures, and it sounds more like a question than an answer.

"Are you sure about that?" Cassandra says, narrowing her eyes, "Because she seemed just fine and dandy the other day."

"I don't know what to tell you, Miss July," he says, squirming uncomfortably. Cassandra raises a finger, poised to browbeat him into submission, but then she notices the rest of the class curiously watching their exchange. She backs off, and Kurt practically crumples with relief.

Cassandra manages to muddle her way through the rest of the lesson, but she keeps eyeing the Schwimmer-shaped hole in her classroom, and if Muffin Top's crying jag is any indication, she's a little more bad-tempered than usual.

"I told you to cut off a butt cheek, not half of your body weight. Try and find the happy medium between whale and skeleton," she snipes, and Lydia's chin starts to tremble all over again.

When the lesson's finally over, there's a stampede of disgruntled freshman trying to get out of the door as quickly as possible. Kurt tries to escape by disappearing into the crowd, but Cassie grabs him by the scruff of his unitard, dragging him back inside.

"OK, spill it," she says, and Kurt's eyes widen.

"There's nothing to - "

"I've got all day, Twinkle Toes, so you can either quit giving me the run around, or I'm going to make you dance until your legs drop off," Cassie informs him, menacingly. "Now, I'm going to ask you one more time: why's Schwimmer cutting out on my class?"

Kurt sighs, resigning himself to the inevitable. "She had an audition," he finally capitulates, "And from what I understand, it didn't go too well."

Cassie frowns. "An audition for what?" she asks him. "She didn't mention anything."

"She didn't want me to tell you," he admits, sheepishly. "She thought that you would be - I don't know - mad, or something."

Cassie remembers how she reacted the last time Schwimmer made some headway on the road to success, and if she's honest, she can't really blame her.

"What happened?" She tries to keep her tone casual, and hopes the concern that's starting to gnaw at her isn't too obvious.

"She wouldn't tell me." Kurt shrugs, looking bewildered. "She just spent most of the night crying, and now she's curled up on the couch, eating a _whole_ lot of ice cream."

Cassandra's mouth sets into a grim line as LeRoy's words come back to haunt her.

"Give me your key," she demands, and Kurt shakes his head, physically backing away from her.

"Miss July, I don't think that's appro - "

"I wasn't asking," Cassandra barks out, regarding him darkly. "Now hand it over, Hummel."

Kurt wordlessly reaches for his bag, pressing the key into her hand.

* * *

Cassandra doesn't bother knocking, she just quietly lets herself into the hovel that Schwimmer calls a home. She moves stealthily through the apartment, and her gaze softens when she sees Rachel curled up in a pitiful heap on the sofa, clutching her comforter to her chest. Cassie can see that she's been crying - her eyes are red-rimmed and her face is a mess – and she's surrounded by a sea of junk food.

She watches Rachel absent-mindedly reach for a spoon, and then marches over to her, snatching the tub of ice cream out of her hands.

"OK, Schwimmer, time for an intervention," she announces unceremoniously, trying not to laugh when Rachel nearly topples off the couch. "Do you know how many calories are in this crap?" she demands, slamming the ice cream down onto the crate-cum-dining-table. "I hope you're planning on puking it back up when you're done with this little pity party."

"Cassandra, what are you...?"

Cassie ignores the shell-shocked look on Schwimmer's face, abruptly cutting her off. "You know, I thought you were made of tougher stuff than this, but one lousy audition and here you are, sobbing into your pillow. It's pathetic."

"Look, I really don't need this right now, OK?" Rachel says, and her voice is already starting to wobble, but Cassie hasn't finished with her yet.

"What did they tell you?" she demands. "That your acting sucks? That you dance like an arthritic pensioner? That – God forbid – your voice isn't up to scratch?"

"They didn't even _let_ me sing..." Rachel says, and her eyes are teeming with unshed tears. "I stepped out on stage and the director told me to turn straight back around again, because I wasn't right for the part. When I asked him why, he said..." She trails off, shaking her head, and for a moment, she's too overcome with emotion to speak.

"Do you think I'm ugly?" she blurts out, and her expression is so plaintive, Cassie can feel her resolve melting away.

"Right now? You look like a snivelling wreck," she informs her, eyeing Schwimmer's choice of lounge-wear with amusement. "Nice PJs, by the way."

Rachel glances self-consciously at her pastel-pink Hello Kitty pyjamas.

"Is that all I'm ever going to be? The Jewish girl with the really big nose? Little Miss David Schwimmer?" she asks, and she looks so achingly insecure, Cassie can't take it anymore.

"Schwim..." Seeing Rachel's wounded expression, Cassie mentally kicks herself, kneeling down in front of her student and resting a hand on her thigh. "_Rachel_," she tries again, "This is what I've been trying to tell you all along. My classes are a walk in the park compared to what it's like out there. You wouldn't believe some of the shit I had to endure before I finally got cast..."

Rachel's woe-is-me demeanour seems to have given way to intrigue, so Cassie decides to elaborate.

"Like the asshole who told me that I could either suck his dick, or come back when I'd grown a pair of tits." Cassie neglects to mention that she spent the rest of the evening considering the merits of a boob job. "This industry is full of people who're hell-bent on convincing you that you're a talentless waste of space. And I know it's easier said than done, but you have to learn to take the rejections with a pinch of salt, otherwise they're going to eat you alive."

"I know." Rachel nods, regarding her thoughtfully. "It's just... I look at the girls in my class, and they're all so pretty. I know I'm just as talented as they are, but if people aren't even going to give me a chance to prove it..." she trails off, looking depressed all over again, and Cassie heaves a heartfelt sigh.

"Look, for what it's worth, from a certain angle, in a certain kind of light, you're actually kind of... hot," she informs Rachel, and Schwimmer glares at her, crossing her arms.

"What? That's not good enough for you? What do you want me to say?" Cassie counters, but then inspiration strikes. "Baby, you're a firework, come on show 'em what you're worth, make 'em go _oh, oh, oh..." _she sings, doing a pretty good impersonation of Meg Ryan as she punctuates the last few syllables by thrusting her pelvis somewhere in the vicinity of Schwimmer's face.

It works. Rachel bursts out laughing.

"That's more like it," Cassie professes, and then she flops down onto the couch, gesturing to the TV. "What are you watching?"

"Re-runs of _American Idol_," Rachel informs her, looking both thrilled and unnerved by Cassie's proximity. "Watching Simon Cowell tear people apart is quite therapeutic."

"Well, you could have come to my class for that," Cassie deadpans, and Rachel eyes her curiously.

"Why, did you miss me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Schwimmer," Cassie retorts, but then she makes a conscious effort to soften her tone. "You want me to sit here for a while and tell you that you're a better singer than every person who walks on stage?" she asks, with a wry smile.

"Yes, please." Rachel beams up at her, but her eyes widen a little when Cassie decides to get comfortable, situating herself underneath the comforter instead of on top of it.

"I'll be back in a second," Schwimmer says breathlessly, before disappearing into the bathroom.

When she comes back out again, Cassie detects the minty scent of toothpaste and industrial-strength mouthwash.

"Did you just brush your teeth?" she demands, and her shoulders start shaking with laughter.

Rachel blushes. "Shut up," she says, feigning interest in the television.

A few moments later, Cassie can sense Schwimmer watching her from the opposite end of the couch, and she meets her attentive gaze, raising an eyebrow. Rachel hastily looks away again, and Cassie bites back a smile. She reaches across Schwimmer's lap, retrieving the ice cream from the top of the crate, and then she spoons some into her mouth.

"Mmmm, I'd forgotten how good this tastes," she purrs, with a suggestive lilt to her tone. She lets her head loll back in pleasure, and then she unabashedly licks the spoon that Schwimmer was just using. Rachel stares at her, moistening her lips, and Cassie dissolves into a shit-eating grin.

Realising that she's being played, Schwimmer's lustful expression quickly turns into a petulant glare.

"Consider that payback for the stunt you pulled in assembly," Cassie says, drily, and now Rachel's the one who's trying not to laugh.

"I thought you didn't like my song choice?" she ventures, and Cassie has to remind herself that Schwimmer's in a vulnerable state.

"I didn't," she counters, "But your performance was pretty... riveting."

Rachel lights up in an incandescent smile, and Cassie holds her breath when Schwimmer edges closer to her, snuggling into her side. She knows she should pull away, but she can't seem to muster the willpower to move, and Schwimmer seems to take it as an invitation to rest her head against Cassie's shoulder. For a moment, Cassie freezes - because she doesn't _do_ stuff like this - but Rachel smells like fabric conditioner, and she's so warm, and soft and... Cassie sighs, inching an arm around Schwimmer's shoulders.

"Don't let the bastards get you down," she murmurs, running her fingers through Rachel's hair, and Schwimmer makes a contented little noise, tightening her grip on Cassie's waist. Then she starts stroking Cassie's stomach, and Cassie's fight-or-flight response kicks into overdrive.

"Schwimmer," she says warningly, "Don't push your lu - "

"Will you please just kiss me?" Rachel demands, but Cassie gently pushes her away.

"Oh, no. No way. You think I'm going to make out with you while you're wearing those?" she says, tugging on the fabric of Schwimmer's pyjamas. "You look like a fourteen-year-old, Schwimmer. A fourteen-year-old with really bad fashion sense."

"I could always take them off," Rachel says, with just the right amount of coquettish charm, and that's it. Cassie forgets the meaning of self-restraint.

She straddles Schwimmer's lap and cups the back of her head, drawing her into a kiss that's slow, and sensuous, and a little more heated than she intended. Schwimmer's so much better at this than Cassie gave her credit for, though. She was expecting clumsy and over-eager, but maybe Rachel's been practising on her pillow, because whatever she's doing is driving Cassie wild. Rachel reclaims her lips every time they retreat, refusing to relinquish contact, and their mouths melt together in an increasingly intimate dance.

At first, Rachel clutches her hips possessively, as though she's afraid Cassie's going to change her mind, but Cassie isn't going anywhere. She's already a slave to her arousal, and the ache between her thighs only gets more insistent when Schwimmer's death-grip gives way to a tentative exploration. When Rachel's hands slide over her ass, Cassie growls, sucking Schwimmer's tongue into her mouth, and Rachel responds with a guttural moan that resonates deep in the pit of Cassie's stomach.

"Oh my God," Schwimmer exclaims in a ragged expulsion of breath, pulling back a little, and her voice is so hoarse, it cracks on the last syllable. Cassie's heart starts pounding even harder when Rachel opens her eyes, gazing at her with a mixture of wonderment and pure, unadulterated desire. Schwimmer's all swollen lips and flushed cheeks, and there's nothing but damp heat where their hips are pressed together.

"Feeling better now?" Cassie asks her, with just a hint of cockiness, and Rachel responds by surging forwards, until their breasts are sandwiched together and Cassie can feel every one of Schwimmer's laboured breaths rippling against her chest.

Schwimmer's kissing her with abandon now, like she fully expects this to evolve into something more, and it isn't long before Cassie kicks the duvet aside and pushes her back against the sofa, pinning Schwimmer against the cushions with her body weight. Their eyes lock, and Cassie takes a moment to drink in the sight of Rachel looking up at her through lowered lashes, practically panting with need.

"Cassie," Rachel half-sighs and half-moans, arching into her touch with something that's approaching desperation, and she's wound so tight, Cassie knows it won't take much to tip her over the edge. Her fingers trail over Schwimmer's hip and across the smooth expanse of her stomach, and Rachel sucks in a sharp breath when Cassie finally slips a hand beneath her pyjama top.

It's tempting to just rip it off, and Cassie doesn't want to think about why she's taking her time with this; why she isn't just pushing Rachel to the brink and watching her unravel. Cassie's always been a big believer in instant gratification, and yet here she is, revelling in the way that Schwimmer's reacting to her protracted caresses.

She strokes her way up to Schwimmer's breasts, and smiles triumphantly when Rachel's hands fist around her hair. She isn't wearing a bra, and really, she's making this too easy. When Cassie thumbs Rachel's nipples, teasing them until they're impossibly hard; toying with them until they're straining against her palms, Schwimmer bucks off the couch and presses her face into Cassie's shoulder. She gasps when Cassie lifts up her pyjama top, replacing her hands with her mouth, and then she's vocally whimpering her approval.

Schwimmer starts undulating against her, clawing at Cassie's back as she desperately seeks some relief, and Cassie slips a thigh between her legs, generating some much-needed friction. For a moment, she's overcome with a rolling tide of pure sensation, but she still can't help but smile when she realises how wet Rachel is.

"Oh, you're just begging for it, aren't you, Schwimmer?" Cassie breathes into Rachel's ear, reaching for the waistband of Rachel's pants, but then she squawks in disbelief when Rachel grabs her wrists, stopping her in her tracks.

Before she knows what's happening, Cassie's being flipped onto her back and wrestled into a supine position, and Schwimmer's eyeing her determinedly. Cassie can't help but laugh when Rachel attempts to pin her arms against the sofa, though, because the thought of this feisty little thing trying to top her is downright hilarious.

"I'm not letting you touch me until you call me 'Rachel,'" Schwimmer informs her resolutely, but Cassie can't take her seriously when Rachel's eyes covetously rake over her body, focussing on the spot where Cassie's shirt has ridden up over her stomach.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to call it a day, then, _Schwimmer_," Cassie retorts with her patented smirk, but Rachel's grip tightens, and she regards her defiantly.

"I'm serious," she warns, but her eyelids flutter shut when Cassie lifts her hips, pressing her stomach tantalisingly against the spot where Schwimmer's straddling her.

"OK, fine, _Rachel._" Cassie adds a mocking lilt to her tone. "Whatever you say."

"Say it like you mean it," Rachel demands, and her eyes are dark and needy and Cassie wants so badly not to give in, but the weight of Rachel pressing against her stomach seems to be exacerbating her arousal, and apparently, she wants this just as much as Schwimmer does. She licks her lips, and realises that she's royally fucked.

"Rachel..." She breathes the name like she's in the throes of ecstasy, like it's some kind of benediction, and when Schwimmer finally lets go of her wrists, Cassandra reaches out with the intention of showing her who's really boss. Then she realises that Schwimmer has her eyes closed, like she's savouring the sound of Cassie addressing her like she's an actual human being, and Cassie's chest tightens painfully. She sits up, cradling Rachel against her, and presses a feather-light kiss against Schwimmer's collarbone. She works her way up, sucking gently on Schwimmer's pulse point, until her lips are grazing the shell of Rachel's ear.

"Rachel," she whispers again, more softly than before, and she cups Schwimmer's chin in her hand, stroking her cheek until Rachel grabs the lapels of her shirt and closes the distance between them. The kiss feels different this time; more raw, more intense; and Cassie realises that she's holding onto Schwimmer almost as tightly as Schwimmer's holding onto her.

When Kurt flings open the front door, Rachel's shirt is halfway over head, and Cassie's unabashedly admiring the view.

"Rachel, I'm so sorry, but you have no idea what that woman put me through. It was like the Spanish Inquisition and the Salem Witch Trials all rolled into one and I... holy crap!"

Cassie nearly rolls sideways off the couch in a desperate bid to make their present position look less incriminating, and Rachel hastily yanks down her top.

"OK, well, I'm going to turn around and maybe... come back later?" Kurt stammers, staring at them in slack-jawed shock.

"Yes, you should leave. Now," Rachel urges him, but Cassie shakes her head, because it suddenly occurs to her how this must look. She's a thirty-three-year-old woman poised to ravish a nineteen-year-old girl – her student, no less - and for all she knows, Schwimmer could still be a virgin. The funny thing is, it's never really bothered her before. She's never really cared enough to consider the consequences.

"It's OK," she tells Kurt, running a hand through her dishevelled hair, because if she's honest, this is all starting to feel like... too much. "I'll go."

"No!" Rachel pleads with her, reaching for her hand, and she looks so devastated, Cassie wouldn't be surprised to find Kurt on a mortuary slab come morning.

"We'll finish this another time," Cassie says quietly, levelling Kurt with a look that would curdle milk. She gently squeezes Schwimmer's hand, and then she walks out of the door. It takes everything she has not to look back.

She manages to make it to the bottom of the stairs, but then she grips the banister convulsively. Her knees are shaking so much, she can barely stand, and she remembers why she hates feeling completely out of control. She knows she'd have to be an idiot of epic proportions to let it happen again, but like friggin' Ado Annie in _Oklahoma_, when it comes to Schwimmer, she just 'Cain't Say No.'


	8. Chapter 8

"Do you have any idea how much I hate you right now?"

Rachel collapses onto the sofa, hiding her face in her hands as she tries to recover from Kurt's unwelcome interruption. She can see that he's dying to ask her for all the gory (or should that be glorious?) details, and he's probably wondering how Finn would react if he knew what her extra-curricular activities entailed, but she's too worked up to feel embarrassed. Yes, she kissed a girl, and she liked it – no, actually, she _loved_ it_; _it was even better than receiving a personalised autograph from Liza Minnelli. She can still feel the warmth of Cassandra's body heat radiating through the cushions; she can still smell the faint traces of Cassie's perfume lingering on her clothes, and it's a painful reminder of just how close they came to blurring the line between fantasy and reality. That feeling of euphoria is already proving to be addictive, and the only thing that's stopping Rachel from sprinting down the street and begging Cassie to finish what she started is the implicit knowledge that Cassie would rebuke her for being too clingy.

"This was supposed to be a rescue mission," Kurt reminds her, "I thought she was coming here to flay you alive, not to feel you up... although I guess I shouldn't be surprised, because you can practically _smell_ the sexual tension when you two are in a room together."

Rachel just burrows under her comforter and groans, and Kurt cautiously sits down beside her.

"Look, I'm sorry, OK? But maybe if you'd told me that you had a little something-something going on with our oh-so-tempestuous dance teacher..."

Kurt sounds hurt, and Rachel regards him apologetically.

"There was nothing _to_ tell," she demurs, because she doesn't want Kurt to think that she's been deliberately keeping him out of the loop.

Kurt eyes her incredulously.

"OK, that's not strictly true," Rachel concedes, "But this is the first time we've ever really..." She trails off, because she can't even bring herself to say the words without remembering how gratifying it felt to _finally_ have Cassie's hands where she wanted them; satiating that ever-present pang of longing. "Besides, I wasn't sure if she... if she liked me in that way."

"Are you sure she even likes you at all?" Kurt ventures, but his delicate tone doesn't negate the bluntness of his question.

Rachel bites her lip, staring at her hands.

"What do you mean?" she asks, and Kurt must see the anxious look on her face, because his expression immediately softens.

"I mean, she doesn't exactly strike me as the relationship type. Are you sure she's not just trying to throw you off your game? Pull your focus away from the things that really matter?"

Rachel remembers the sound of Cassie reverently breathing her name; the way she capitulated to her demands; how she chose to console her instead of continuing with her barrage of criticism. She remembers the whisper of tenderness behind her teacher's commanding touch, and the look of unguarded affection on Cassie's face while she was looming over her. Cassie's a compelling actress, but Rachel can't bring herself to believe that it was all a lie; that Cassie's purposely setting out to destroy her.

"I'm sure," she says softly, and Kurt looks at her sceptically.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to take your word for it."

Rachel nods in agreement, and then she stretches out her legs, resting her feet on his lap.

"So... you and Crazy Cassie, huh?" Kurt observes, and his concern seems to have given way to amusement.

"Don't call her that," Rachel says sharply, and Kurt lets out a low whistle.

"Oh, honey, you've got it _bad_. She's really done a number on you, hasn't she?"

Kurt's observation catches her unawares, and Rachel's not prepared for the surge of emotion it elicits. She doesn't know why, but suddenly her chin's trembling and she's looking at Kurt through tear-filled eyes.

"I've never felt like this before. Not even... not even with Finn," she confesses on the back of an embarrassed laugh, and Kurt tugs her towards him, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

"Rachel," he laments, reaching for her hand, "You do realise that she's the worst possible person you could fall in love with? I mean, not only is she our _teacher_, she's also an alcoholic train-wreck who likes to pick on you just for fun."

"You don't know her like I do," Rachel informs him earnestly, "She's - "

"Insanely hot," Kurt acquiesces, "And I've got to admit, that whole bitch-on-wheels thing really works for her... unless you're on the receiving end of it, of course."

Rachel ducks her head, and Kurt squeezes her hand.

"Just be careful, OK? Because you must have a serious masochistic streak to date that woman, and I'd hate to see you end up in your very own version of _50 Shades of Grey_."

"Kurt!" Rachel protests, but now she's snorting through her tears. "That's disgusting."

"Well, if she brings handcuffs and a hairbrush to your next make-out session, don't say I didn't warn you," Kurt says drily, and Rachel hits him with her pillow.

"All I can say is that there had better BE a next time. Or else I'm never going to forgive you."

"Maybe I should call my Dad to say my last goodbyes," Kurt ponders, regarding Rachel with a pained expression. "I mean, did you see the way she looked at me before she left? I'm a dead man walking."

Rachel can't help but smile, because Kurt's got a point. Cassie clearly wasn't happy about him throwing a wrench in the works - and surely that's got to count for something?

* * *

Rachel gets up at the crack of dawn the next morning, so she has time to shave and tweeze and embalm herself in body lotion before her 9am dance class. Cassie saw her at her worst yesterday – her Hello Kitty pyjamas have now been confined to a dark corner of her closet and she's never going to risk going a day without showering again, but now she's determined to look her best. She spends twenty minutes attacking her freshly-washed hair with a curling iron, until it's falling over her shoulders in glossy waves, and then she painstakingly applies her make-up. She doesn't back away from the mirror until her skin looks dewy, her complexion looks flawless, and the just-got-out-of-bed bleariness is eclipsed by her subtly-blended eye shadow.

She picks out the same leotard she wore during their performance of _All That Jazz – _the one that criss-crosses over her chest and reveals a little too much skin and a scandalous amount of cleavage - because she knows it'll get a rise out of Cassie. This time, though, she forsakes the cut-off leggings in favour of sheer satin tights. She tries not to snag the material as she inches it over her thighs, and then she pulls on some sweat pants so she doesn't get molested on the subway.

After brushing her teeth – twice – and undertaking a vigorous flossing session (which isn't easy, because she can't stop smiling at the memory of Cassie teasing her), she manages to make it to the studio by 7.45am. Early enough to catch Cassie on her own. Early enough for Cassie to ruin her immaculate appearance by pinning her against the piano, or bending her over the barre, and -

"I know your housing situation leaves a lot to be desired, Schwimmer, but anybody would think you didn't have a home to go to. Are you sure you don't want to pitch a tent in here? That way you'll never have to leave." Cassie's tone is sarcastic, but Rachel knows her well enough to read between the lines. She's not as mad as she's pretending to be.

"Class doesn't start for another hour," Cassie reminds her, trying to drive home the point by tipping her head towards the clock, and Rachel swallows her apprehension.

"I know," she says pointedly, letting her eyes rake over Cassie's slender physique.

Cassie's legs are endless; her leotard looks like it was tailored to emphasise her enviable figure and cut to complement the curve of her ass, and she's wearing her hair down in a mass of unkempt blonde curls. It reminds Rachel of one of their very first lessons, when Cassie ripped off her skirt, sank to her knees, and crawled towards her, singing about falling in love with another woman in heavily-accented Spanish. It was the sexiest thing Rachel had ever seen – or heard, for that matter – and for those three mesmerising minutes, she truly understood the meaning of "animal magnetism." Now Cassie does something every day that leaves her feeling breathless and awestruck. She's just gotten better at hiding her reactions.

"Oh, I see." Cassie's self-assured smirk is back with a vengeance. "You came here hoping for a repeat performance."

Rachel's lips curl upwards, in what she hopes is a seductive smile.

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a grand finale."

Cassie lets out a bark of laughter, and Rachel holds her breath when her instructor closes the distance between them.

"Someone's getting a little too brazen for her own good," she observes, and Rachel's tongue snakes out to moisten her lips as Cassandra moves around her in ever-decreasing circles. She stays perfectly still, but she can't stop her eyelids from fluttering shut when Cassie's deliberate pacing draws to an abrupt halt. She's standing right behind her, and Rachel can feel her teacher's breath rippling over a spot where her leotard doesn't quite cover her skin. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and it's hard to repress a shiver.

"Well, I learned from the best," she manages to retort, even though her mouth suddenly feels parched.

"You know what I think?" Cassie murmurs, and her voice is low and beguiling, "I think we should use this opportunity to get you up to speed, Schwimmer. So why don't you run along and get warmed up, and I'll drill you on yesterday's lesson?"

"But - " Rachel tries not to look crestfallen when she sees Cassie's uncompromising expression.

"OK, _fine,_" she huffs, and then she lets out a strangled gasp when Cassie slaps her lightly on the ass.

"What?" Cassie asks, feigning innocence when Rachel turns around to regard her in outrage. "You cut one of my classes, Schwimmer, and now you're going to pay the price."

Thirty minutes later, Rachel's leotard is damp with perspiration, her hair's flat and sticking to her shoulders, and she has a horrible feeling that her foundation isn't doing anything to combat the shine. Debelah Morgan's _'Dance With Me'_ is blaring from the speakers, and now she wishes she'd stopped for coffee, because it's too early to be suffering like this without an injection of caffeine surging through her system.

"That's right, Schwimmer - you're not here to lounge around and look pretty, you're here to sweat like you're in a Richard Simmons' workout video," Cassie informs her with no small measure of merriment, and Rachel glares at her.

"I hate you," she chokes out between heaving breaths, and Cassie regards her with twinkling eyes.

"No, you don't."

Rachel smiles in spite of herself, and Cassie's stoic expression gives way to a warm grin. Rachel can see that she's trying to rein it in, but it isn't long before Cassie forgets herself again and starts absent-mindedly singing along with the music, drumming a concordant rhythm against her thighs as she starts her own set of warm-up exercises.

"_W__hen it comes to dancing, I know how to move; when it comes to passion, I know just what to do. I feel the music inside, I feel like I am alive... so pretend I was right; let's make looove."_

At first, Rachel thinks Cassie's doing it on purpose, trying to drive her to distraction, but the more she watches Cassie move around the studio, the more she realises that she's just kind of... happy. The revelation makes her heart swell, and she feels like she's getting vicariously high.

"Schwimmer, they're called hip _rotations_ for a reason. You look like a 14-year-old boy trying to rub one out. Don't thrust, _grind._"

And then Cassie's arms are around her waist, and she's pressing into Rachel's back, creating an airless vacuum where they're sandwiched tightly together.

"Like this," she says softly, and Rachel slumps against her, letting her head loll against Cassie's shoulder as Cassie rolls their hips in a languid circle. She lets Cassie guide her movements, until they're fluid and effortless instead of mechanical and jerky, but even when she's mastered the technique, Cassie doesn't let her go. Her hands are warm against Rachel's stomach, and Rachel trails her fingertips over them, tracing the outline of the gold ring that Cassie wears half-way down her middle finger. She can't help but imagine what those fingers would feel like straining inside of her, and when Cassie blows softly on the back of her neck, dropping a kiss against her shoulder, the background music does nothing to drown out Rachel's moan. She turns around, cupping Cassie's face in her hands with the intention of drawing her into another ardent kiss, but Cassie steps aside, glancing regretfully at the clock.

"We can't," she says, clearing her throat, "Not now."

Rachel is seconds away from saying "please," but then she realises that would probably constitute begging, so she just purses her lips and nods.

"Consider the next two hours a lesson in self-control, Schwimmer," Cassie informs her with an insidious wink, "Then maybe if some coffin-dodger decides to take a phone call during your big moment, you won't feel the need to go after him with a baseball bat."

Rachel ducks her head, trying not to laugh, and Cassie narrows her eyes.

"People over the age of sixty shouldn't be _allowed_ cell phones, Schwimmer. Not if they can't figure out how to use them."

Rachel can't hold it in any longer. She snorts at the incensed expression on Cassie's face, and they're both laughing when the studio door swings open.

Rachel's eyes widen when Carmen Tibideaux steps into the room, and she immediately sobers up, glancing anxiously at Cassie. Even though Miss Tibideaux couldn't possibly have seen what just transpired between them, Rachel's hands still feel a little clammy.

"Good morning, Miss Berry," Carmen says politely, and she looks at Rachel with an expression of mild curiosity. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

It takes Rachel a moment to remember that yesterday, she was claiming to be bed-ridden with the 'flu, and her heart starts pounding as she stutters out a response.

"Oh, I am. Thank you," she says haltingly, "It turned out to be one of those... twenty-four-hour things."

Cassie glances at her in amusement, sporting an expression that clearly says, _"stop talking, because you're a terrible liar."_

Even still, Rachel feels compelled to explain their current predicament. "I was hoping to get a copy of Miss July's lesson plan, but she was kind enough to actually... show me what I missed," she hastens to explain, and she hopes her foundation hasn't faded to the point where her blush is glaringly obvious.

"Well, that's very... accommodating of her," Carmen acknowledges wryly, and she raises her eyebrows at Cassie.

"Cassandra, can I have a word?"

Cassie shrugs, and she's much cooler under pressure than Rachel. "Sure. I'll swing by after class."

Carmen's mouth sets into a grim line, "No. I'm afraid this won't wait. Can you come with me now, please?"

Rachel's stomach plummets to her knees, and her eyes dart fretfully towards her teacher, but Cassie won't meet her worried gaze. She just nods, and then gestures for Carmen to precede her out of the room.

Cassie waits until the Principal's back is turned before she turns to regard Rachel with a look that evidently says,_"you're a babbling idiot."_ She rolls her eyes for added emphasis and then saunters through the door, and Rachel wrings her hands, hoping she hasn't created smoke before they've even kindled the fire.

* * *

"Every time you drag me in here, I get flashbacks to my senior year," Cassie jokes, hoping Carmen can't see her underlying trepidation. "So, which snot-nosed little brat turned snitch this time? Let me guess, was it Simon Marsh? Or maybe..." Cassie trails off when she sees the sombre expression on Carmen's face.

"What's wrong?" she demands, and the knot in her stomach tightens painfully.

"Lydia Martin collapsed last night," Carmen informs her, massaging her temples as though she's still trying to process the information herself. "They rushed her to Bellevue, and it looks like she's going to be staying there for a while."

"Oh my God. What happened?" Cassie ventures, regarding Carmen with palpable concern. "Is she OK?"

"No, she's not OK," Carmen informs her bluntly. "She's been starving herself for months and she's so malnourished, they're having to feed her intravenously. She's currently undergoing CT scans to see if there's any lasting damage to her heart."

Cassie remembers the last thing she said to Lydia – another scathing remark about her weight (or lack thereof) – and she nearly chokes on the bile that's rising in the back of her throat.

"Oh, shit," she whispers hoarsely, and she clutches the arms of the chair to keep her hands from trembling.

"Lydia's mother is understandably distraught, and she wants to know why we didn't intervene."

"I didn't realise she had a problem," Cassie admits, but she knows that she should have. She should have realised something was wrong as soon as Lydia started showing up to her class wearing baggy sweat pants and looking like a shadow of her former self.

"Well, that comes as no surprise," Carmen counters, and she's staring at Cassie with unnerving intensity, "Because you apparently told her to live on a diet of _"rice cakes and Ipecac" _and humiliated her by calling her _'Muffin Top' _in front of her classmates." She regards Cassie with a pained expression. "Please tell me that's not true?"

For a moment, Cassie's too horrified to speak. Then she ducks her head in guilty acknowledgement.

"I told her she needed to drop a few pounds at the beginning of the year, yes."

When she sees Carmen's aghast expression, she can't help but feel a little defensive.

"Oh come on, Carmen, how was I supposed to know she would take it to heart? I just... I thought it was better that she hear it from me than some asshole casting director." She crosses her arms over her chest. "And you know as well as I do that half of the girls in this school have an eating disorder. You can't blame me for all of their neuroses."

"Cassandra, she's an eighteen-year-old girl. You're her teacher. You're supposed to make her believe that she can accomplish the impossible, not insult her until she thinks her goals are unattainable."

"OK, wait a god-damned minute," Cassie protests, and her eyes are flashing with anger, "Don't sit there and pretend like you haven't turned a blind eye to my methods for the past five years. You know I'm hard on my kids, and you know it gets results. If they're too sensitive to withstand a little criticism in the classroom, you can guarantee that they're going to fall apart once they're out there in the real world."

"Like you did?" Carmen says in a tone that's a little too incisive, and Cassie recoils as though she's been stung.

"Yeah, _like I did_," she proclaims venomously. "I walked out of here thinking I was something special because all of my teachers kissed my ass and told me I was destined for big things, and then I got one hell of a wake up call."

"So your solution is to bully your students until they break?" Carmen counters, and Cassie doesn't like the judgemental edge to her tone.

"It's not bullying," Cassie fires back. "It's character-building."

"Yes, well, try telling that to Lydia Martin."

Cassie doesn't have an answer for that, so she slumps back into her chair, evading Carmen's incriminating case.

"So what are you saying?" she asks, after a moment of strained silence, "That you want me to tone it down for a while? Kill them with kindness?"

"No, I'm saying that I can't keep doing this, Cassandra." Carmen heaves a heartfelt sigh, regarding her regretfully. "I can't keep making allowances for you."

"You didn't have any complaints when you were putting together your prospectus," Cassie reminds her, "Or did you think it was some kind of fortunate coincidence that 80% of your 'famous alumni' are all kids that I've taught?"

Carmen eyes her warily.

"Cassie, do you have any idea how many freshmen have threatened to make a formal complaint against you? I've talked them down from the ledge, I've pretended not to hear the rumours about you drinking on the job, or sleeping with your students, but this... this isn't something I can just sweep under the carpet. And frankly, I'm not sure if I want to."

Carmen's a picture of composure, as always, but Cassie can sense the underlying anger – and the disappointment – in her measured tone. Cassie's cheeks flush, and a wave of panic washes over her, because this doesn't feel like the customary slap on the wrist.

"You're right, I _have_ turned a blind eye to your shortcomings," Carmen concludes, "Mainly because the upperclassmen who make it through your program sing your praises, and yes, a lot of them go on to do great things. But what about the ones who get left behind, Cassandra? What about the ones who go home and cry themselves to sleep at night because of your thoughtless remarks?"

Cassie stares at her lap. "Then they don't have what it takes," she says, simply.

"And are you really arrogant enough to believe that _you_ should be the judge of that?" Carmen demands, and she's clearly struggling to remain civil.

"It's not arrogance, Carmen, it's experience," Cassie informs her, a little more harshly than she intended. "Besides, they always have the opportunity to prove me wrong." A ghost of a smile crosses her face as she thinks of Schwimmer and her relentless drive to succeed, but it rapidly fades when she sees Carmen's unforgiving expression.

"I'm sorry, Cassandra, but when parents are withdrawing their kids from this school – when they're threatening to sue us because you don't know the meaning of the word 'tact,' you leave me with no other choice than to suspend you. There will be a formal investigation, of course, but - "

"Look, spare me the red tape," Cassie interjects, jumping to her feet, because she knows she isn't going to be able to hold it together for much longer. "I'll just quit and save you the fucking hassle, OK?"

She feels a small measure of satisfaction when she sees Carmen's stunned expression, but it does nothing to eclipse the nausea that's making her stomach roil.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Carmen asks her quietly, "I mean, there's always a chance that the board could find in your favour."

"Yeah, a snowball's chance in hell," Cassie spits out, and Carmen regards her sorrowfully.

"I hope you know I don't take any pleasure in doing this. I just - "

"Don't worry, Carmen, I get it," Cassie assures her, in a tone that's dripping with rancour. "Your hands are tied, and the last thing I want is to become a liability. Especially after everything you've done for me," she concludes, with a hollow laugh that's as bitter as it is insincere.

"We weren't lying to you all those years ago, Cassandra. You could have been great. You _were_ great. But you've only got yourself to blame for the way things turned out," Carmen reminds her, as if Cassie isn't already painfully aware of that fact.

"I was twenty-two years old, I'd just lost my mother, I had the director from hell screaming abuse at me every day, and that role... that role was all I had left. So _excuse me_ if I went off the deep end when - "

Cassie clamps a hand over her mouth, shaking her head as she steadfastly wills back the tears. She's determined not to cry, but Carmen doesn't make it any easier when she reaches out, laying a soothing hand on her shoulder. Cassie jerks away from her, eyeing her with a mixture of anguish and contempt.

"Don't touch me," she warns, and Carmen obligingly backs away. "Just give me an hour to pack up my things and then I'll... I'll get out of your hair."

Carmen ducks her head in acknowledgement, and Cassie stumbles back to the dance studio on shaking legs. She slams the door behind her, leaning against it for support, and then she squeezes her eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath that somehow turns into a ragged sob. She pounds her fists against the wood until it starts to splinter, because she desperately needs an outlet for the rage that's building inside of her, and then she kicks it for good measure, screaming _"fuck!"_ at the top of her lungs. It's a tortured, inhuman cry, but the suffocating tightness in her chest gets even worse when she opens her eyes and realises that she's not alone. Her entire fucking class is waiting for her, and they're staring at her like she's batshit crazy. It reminds her of that fateful night all those years ago, when she finally stopped ranting at the old guy and the rest of the audience slowly came into focus. They were looking at her like they expected someone to cart her off in a straight jacket, but she was so angry, she could barely bring herself to care. Now, she scans the room with wild eyes, because if anyone's filming this, she's going to ram their cell phone down their fucking throat.

"Cassandra - "

There's a concerned cry from across the room, and Cassie's eyes immediately fall on Schwimmer. She realises that Kurt's physically restraining her; holding her back, like Cassie's some kind of feral animal that he's desperately trying to stop Rachel from antagonising.

She points a shaking finger at him. "Get your hands off her, Hummel," she commands, and Kurt reluctantly releases his vice-like grip on Schwimmer's shoulders.

Rachel doesn't waste any time in running towards her, and it takes everything Cassie has not to crumble when she looks into panic-stricken brown eyes. She skims her hand over Rachel's arm, gently squeezing her wrist, and then she tilts her head towards the door.

"Wait for me outside, OK?" she murmurs, and Schwimmer hesitates, before nodding her assent.

The room remains deathly silent, to the point where the only audible sound is Cassie's laboured breathing.

"Well..." she announces, struggling to regain some semblance of composure, "You'll be pleased to know that I won't be helping you along the path to mediocrity anymore. So all you whiny, self-indulgent brats who felt the need to go crying to Carmen because I hurt your delicate little feelings, _congratulations_. Now you're going to be taught by a geriatric prima ballerina who wears incontinence pads and is physically incapable of showing you _how_ to dance since she had her hip replaced five years ago."

A buzz of discontent ripples around the room, but it rapidly peters out when Cassie holds up her hand, gesturing for them to quieten down again.

"Oh, and one more piece of advice before I go – and it's probably the best piece of advice I'll ever give you."

She waits until they're all gazing at her attentively, hanging on her every word.

"Don't end up like me," she chokes out, and then she picks up her bag and turns on her heel, heading straight for the door.

She realises, then, that Schwimmer's still there, hovering in an alcove at the back of the room. Cassie doesn't know why she's surprised; it's not like Rachel has ever paid much heed to her instructions before.

"You're leaving?" Schwimmer whispers brokenly, and her voice cracks under the onslaught of her tears. "Is it because of me? Because I'll talk to Miss Tibideaux; I'll tell her it was all my fault. I can transfer to another class, and you can - "

"Schwimmer, we're done." Cassie says flatly, even though all she wants to do is wrap her arms around Rachel and tell her that _none_ of this is her fault. Still, it's easier than admitting the truth - that she's some kind of monster who harangued a girl to within an inch of her life. "It's over," she reiterates, and the words catch in her throat.

Rachel looks devastated for a moment, but then she shakes her head determinedly, closing the distance between them. There's a collective intake of breath from the rest of the class when she grabs the fabric of Cassie's leotard, pulling her into a desperate kiss, and for a moment, Cassie's too taken aback by her audacity to respond. Then she feels Rachel's breath catch in a hitching sob, and she squeezes her eyes shut, allowing herself this one final moment of weakness. Knowing she has nothing left to lose, she cups Schwimmer's face in her hands, lovingly stroking her cheeks, and then she kisses her like this is their final goodbye; sweet and tender and yearning. Rachel holds her close, and Cassie savours every last second of their proximity. When she pulls back, she's not sure if the tears trickling down her cheeks are Schwimmer's, or her own.

"Listen to me," Cassie says hoarsely, "You're gonna take Broadway by storm, Schwimmer. You're gonna find some nice guy - or girl – who worships the ground you walk on, and you're gonna forget that your crazy bitch of a dance teacher ever existed."

"No, I'm not," Rachel informs her resolutely, and she's clinging to Cassie for dear life.

"Schwimmer, you need to let go." Cassie says quietly, because this is painful enough without the whole world watching. "Rachel, let me _go_," she says, and her voice is louder this time; strangled and wrought with repressed emotion.

Kurt finally steps in, cautiously laying a hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"Rachel, come on," he says, tugging gently on her arm, and Cassie regards him in agonised gratitude as he prises Schwimmer away from her.

"Take care of her," she mouths, and he nods, throwing her a look that's caught somewhere between anger and compassion.

When she finally makes it back to her office, Cassie falls to her knees and clutches her chest to try and combat the keening ache that's gnawing at her heart, but she feels too dazed – too lost - to even cry.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Thank you so much to everyone who's continuing to express an interest in this story - I promise I'll reply to your reviews ASAP - but I wanted to get this update finished before I have to traipse back to work tomorrow. I couldn't leave you all hanging, especially when so many of you were accusing me of breaking your hearts (I'M SORRY!) Hopefully this chapter will go some way to healing them again... although I should warn you that it's still pretty angsty in places. Tissues at the ready!**_

* * *

"Hi," Cassie proclaims breathlessly, perfecting a harried, distraught look before she addresses the Nurse who's sitting behind the reception desk. "My sister was admitted here last night. Lydia Martin?"

Cassie knows she and Lydia look nothing alike, and she's already poised to spin some yarn about them having different fathers, but the Nurse barely bats an eyelid before she reels off Lydia's room number and gestures down the hall.

"Visiting hours are almost over," she reminds Cassie, glancing at the clock, and Cassie nods her understanding.

"I know... I just... I was trying to avoid running into our parents since we had that big bust-up at Christmas. I didn't want to make a scene and stress Lydia out even more, you know?" She bites her lip anxiously. "They're not in there at the moment, are they?"

The Nurse offers her a reassuring smile, shaking her head.

"No, you just missed them. They're back at the hotel getting some rest."

"OK, great. Thank you." Mentally congratulating herself on another faultless performance, Cassie turns to leave, but then she stops in her tracks, tightening her grip on the bouquet of flowers that she's holding.

"How is she.. how is she doing?" she asks, even though a part of her is afraid of hearing the answer. "The last I heard, the Doctors were running some scans because they thought... they thought there might be a problem with her heart?"

The Nurse flips through the charts on her desk. "Well, she was bradycardic on admission and her blood pressure was dangerously low – that's probably what caused her to collapse – but if she can get her weight back up, there shouldn't be any long-term impact on her vital organs. She has an appointment with the staff psychiatrist tomorrow morning, and hopefully he'll be able to get her the help she needs."

Cassie chokes back a sigh of relief, and nods her gratitude. It takes her a moment to work up the courage to knock on Lydia's door, and when she edges it open, her former student looks at her like she's brandishing a carving knife instead of a 'get well soon' card.

Cassie feels sick to the stomach when she's confronted with the full extent of Lydia's frailty. Her student's skimpy hospital gown accentuates all of the warning signs that Cassie was too blind – or too heartless - to notice. Lydia's arms are spindly, her wrists look like they're about to snap in half, and her collarbone's jutting out. Without any make-up to hide behind, her skin looks sallow and emaciated, and the dark circles under her eyes speak volumes. She looks as weak as a kitten, but she still finds the energy to scoot away from Cassie, cowering against her pillows as she frantically seeks out the panic button.

"Lydia, relax," Cassie says softly, offering her student a reassuring smile. She sets the flowers down on the bedside table, and then holds her hands up in surrender. "I come in peace."

Lydia still looks terrified, but she reluctantly relinquishes her grip on the panic alarm, making sure she keeps it at arm's reach.

"You shouldn't be here," she says flatly, but she won't meet Cassie's concerned gaze.

"I know." Cassie heaves a heartfelt sigh, cautiously perching on the edge of her bed. "And don't worry, I won't stay for long. I just..." She takes a deep breath, tentatively reaching for Lydia's hand, but she can't blame her student for immediately snatching it away again.

"I just wanted to say how sorry I am," Cassie tries again, and she has to swallow around the lump in her throat to keep her voice from cracking. "If I said or did anything to make you feel as though this was your only option..."

"Are you kidding me?" Lydia retorts, and she flips from meek to fuming in the blink of an eye. "You practically _ordered_ me to starve myself. You made me feel like I was some kind of worthless, talentless lump, and when I finally lost the weight – like you _told_ me to – you insulted me in front of the entire class all over again. So don't pretend that you're sorry, Miss July, because I know this is just some pathetic attempt at damage control."

Cassie hears the raw pain in Lydia's voice, and sees the torment lurking in her student's sunken hazel eyes. Realising that she's the root cause of it is bad enough, but the fact that Lydia thinks she's faking her remorse is even worse. Carmen's home truths come rushing back to haunt her, and Cassie can't blink back her tears anymore. She turns away from Lydia, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve, and when she finally summons the strength to look at her student again, Lydia's regarding her warily.

"That's what I came here to tell you," Cassie informs her, still fighting for control. "You don't have to worry about me ragging on you anymore, because my reign of terror is finally over." She offers Lydia a wry smile. "As of tomorrow, Mrs Dumont is taking over my classes, and she's a hell of a lot nicer than I am. So you'd better hurry up and get your act together, Martin, or else they're going to make you re-take the whole semester."

"I'm not going back to NYADA," Lydia says quietly, sounding traumatised by the mere suggestion. "I can barely keep up with everyone as it is."

"Look, I know I've been hard on you – " Cassie reconsiders her choice of words when she hears Lydia's incredulous snort, "OK, that might be the understatement of the century... but you're a good dancer, Lydia," Cassie assures her, and Lydia turns defeated eyes in her direction.

"But I'm not good enough, am I?"

Cassie doesn't know how to answer that, so she ducks her head, evading Lydia's melancholy gaze.

"That's not my call to make. Not anymore," she acknowledges, trying to skirt around the cold, hard truth for once in her life, "But if this is really what you want, then you shouldn't let me – or anyone else – stand in your way."

"I'm just... I'm not that strong," Lydia wearily admits, "I hate the competition, and I hate having to compare myself to everyone all the time. I wish... I wish I was more like Rachel Berry."

Cassie baulks at the mention of Schwimmer, and for one disconcerting second, she feels like she's right back in that studio again, re-living their gut-wrenching goodbye.

"Believe me, that's not the kind of standard you want to hold yourself to. Rachel's... Rachel's one in a million," she says softly, staring at her hands as she tries to stave off a wave of despair. "Just don't tell her I said that, because her ego already has its own zip code."

Lydia cracks the barest hint of a smile, but she's looking at Cassie curiously, and Cassie clears her throat, reaching for her purse.

"I bought you something," she ventures nervously, and the enticing scent of chocolate wafts across the room as she removes her wares from a grocery bag.

"You bought me a chocolate-chip _muffin_?" Lydia squawks in disbelief, and she's looking at Cassie like she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Look, just hear me out, OK?" Cassie hastily interjects, holding up a hand to forestall the impending tirade. "I don't starve myself or swallow half a bottle of laxatives for supper, Lydia - not anymore - but I still skip meals, and I still count every damn calorie that I eat. I don't do carbs, I sure as _hell_ don't do candy, and I get up at the crack of dawn to do as many sit-ups as my body can handle. And you know what? It's a fucking miserable way to live."

Cassie watches Lydia's face crumple in acknowledgement, and she bites her lip, laying a hand on her student's wasted arm. She tries not to cringe when she feels bone instead of flesh, but at least this time around, Lydia doesn't flinch away from her touch.

"Your dreams shouldn't cost you your health, Lydia. Or your happiness," Cassie concludes, even as she recognises her own hypocrisy.

"So..." Lydia sucks in a deep breath, "When you said that if we weren't suffering with severe body dysmorphia, we didn't want it enough...?"

"I was speaking from experience," Cassie confirms, reaching out to wipe away Lydia's tears. "I haven't... I haven't eaten one of these in years," she confesses, laying the muffin in Lydia's lap. "So, what do you say? Will you split it with me?"

Lydia hesitates for a moment, staring at the muffin as though it's the spawn of Satan, but then she nods almost imperceptibly.

"'Atta girl." Cassie delicately breaks the muffin in half, handing the smaller portion to Lydia. "Take as much time as you need," she assures her, watching Lydia break off a pea-sized amount and gingerly bring it to her mouth.

Cassie sees the expression of steely determination on her student's face, but it's obvious that Lydia is having to force the food down, and Cassie glances at the drip running into her student's arm, and the lurid bruise that's forming around the injection site. In that moment, she feels so horribly guilty, it's hard to breathe.

"It's good, right?" she asks Lydia, even though she's already starting to resent herself for the indulgence, and Lydia offers her an unconvincing nod, cautiously picking up another crumb.

"Miss July?" she ventures hesitantly, and Cassandra meets her timid gaze, "Did they really fire you? Because of me?"

"Don't sweat it, kid," Cassie reassures her, even though her blood runs cold every time she thinks about the predicament she's in. "We both know I deserved it."

"But I... I never meant for any of this to happen," Lydia hastens to explain, and she looks like she's on the verge of tears all over again, "It's not like you're the only person who's ever been mean to me. Some of the other girls were just as bad."

"But I'm not just 'some other girl.' I'm your teacher," Cassie reminds her, and then she stares at the floor, "Or at least, I used to be."

Lydia regards her anxiously. "What are you going to do now?"

Cassie hesitates, and her last bite of muffin sticks in the back of her throat.

"Honestly? I have no idea."

* * *

Cassie walks out of the hospital in a haze of self-loathing, and stops off at the liquor store on the way home. By 9pm, there's an ever-expanding collection of bottles lining her kitchen counter, and she's starting to feel pleasantly buzzed. She can't handle being alone with her thoughts tonight, though, so she fumbles her way through a shower and then trowels on some foundation, realising that her hand-eye co-ordination isn't up to par when she jabs herself in the eye with a stick of mascara.

"_Fuck." _

She casts the wand aside and opts for the full stage make-up instead; heavy blusher, fake eyelashes, and smoky eye shadow that extends well beyond the confines of her eyelids. She has to admit, it's easier staring at a Barbie Doll-inspired mask than looking at her own haggard reflection in the mirror. She towel-dries her hair and then decides that she can't be bothered doing anything with it, so she just lets it cascade over her shoulders in a wild mane of curls. She stumbles her way into a skimpy black thong and then retrieves her sluttiest LBD from her closet - the one that barely covers her ass (or her tits, for that matter), and then she downs a couple more shots of vodka before precariously teetering towards the seedy salsa club across town.

The venue itself may leave a lot to be desired, with its sticky floors and vinyl couches, but the music is its one redeeming feature. She doesn't waste any time in hitting the dance floor, and after watching her become the living embodiment of drum and bass, the guys don't waste any time in flocking to her, either. She dances uninhibitedly, feeling the alcohol surging through her system, and they revel in her exhibitionist streak. She humours them for a while, switching partners until they all start to look the same, but she eventually gravitates towards the guy who has the most rhythm and grinds up against him until she can feel his dick straining eagerly against her back. He's getting more handsy as the song wears on, edging up the hemline of her dress, running his hands over her hips and grazing the underside of her breasts, but if she's honest, she welcomes the distraction. It's pure hedonism, and it's been too long since she fucked a faceless stranger, with no complications; no repercussions; no feelings.

They end up staggering into a filthy bathroom stall, and she laughs like a hyena when he rips her tights to shreds and wrenches up her dress. Her smile rapidly fades, though, when he slams her up against the cubicle door, yanks her hair back, and starts sucking on her neck like a fucking vampire. His kisses are bruising, and sloppy, and it feels like he's mauling her face with his mouth. His stubble's grazing her chin, and when he moves to paw at her breasts, pinching her nipples painfully between his stubby fingers, she regrets her decision not to wear a bra. Clearly he's not a big believer in foreplay, and she barely has time to retrieve a condom from her purse before he's yanking her underwear aside and unzipping his pants, moving to frantically rut against her.

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to derive a modicum of pleasure from his feckless fumbling, but for some reason, Schwimmer's face pops - unbidden - into her mind. She thinks of that stolen afternoon on Rachel's couch, the heart-stopping kisses and the leisurely caresses, and suddenly she can't go through with this. She clenches her legs together, and flinches away from his grasping touch.

"OK, that's enough," she says, trying to wriggle away from him. "Hey, asshole, I said _stop._"

He doesn't listen, so she grabs his shoulders and pushes him backwards, sending him careering over the toilet and crashing to the floor. He looks taken aback by her strength for a moment, and then he regards her in a mixture of outrage and disbelief.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he demands, and he comes at her again, so she grabs his ball sac and squeezes. Hard.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" she retorts, and she tunes out the obscenities he's hurling at her. She tries to unlock the door and stumble her way towards freedom, but he grabs her wrist, blocking her exit. It's only then that she notices he's wearing a wedding ring, and her antipathy for him increases tenfold.

"Do you kiss your wife with that mouth?" she taunts, and for a moment, she thinks he's going to hit her, but instead he just wrenches open the cubicle door, leaving it swinging on its hinges as he slams it shut behind him.

"Fucking cock tease," he yells on his way out of the restroom.

"Hey, don't blame me for your shortcomings," she calls after him, trying to ignore the disgusted looks she receives from the women preening themselves in front of the mirror. They're staring at her judgementally, like she's the bearer of her own misfortune, and when she glances at her trashed reflection, she realises why. She tries to straighten out her clothes and look a little less like a low-rent hooker, but it's not easy, because the bastard's ripped her dress and her underwear, too.

* * *

Cassie nearly breaks down and sobs when she arrives home and sees Schwimmer sitting on her front stoop. Rachel's shivering violently, like she's been waiting there for a while, but Cassie watches her student's relief rapidly turn to horror as she drunkenly stumbles out of the taxi and tries to tackle the steps leading up to her house.

"Oh my God," Rachel jumps to her feet, wrapping a supportive arm around Cassie's waist as she lurches towards the door. "What happened?"

Cassie doesn't even grace her with a response, she just shoves Rachel aside.

"What part of _"it's over"_ don't you understand, Schwimmer?" she slurs, embarking on a futile bid to find her house key. "And how the hell did you get my address, anyway?"

"Brody gave it to me," Rachel informs her, and she still looks far too concerned for Cassie's liking.

"Of course he did," Cassie drolly retorts. "Well, that's just great. Now I'll have to take out a restraining order to get rid of you."

Rachel flinches, but she doesn't show any signs of imminent departure.

"Are you OK?" she asks instead, resting a hand on Cassie's forearm, and her touch is so gentle, it takes everything Cassie has not to give up the fight.

"What, you mean aside from the whole jobless and soon-to-be homeless thing? Yeah. Life's a fucking ball."

"Well, if the worst comes to the worst, you can always move in with me," Rachel informs her, with that bright-eyed optimism that makes Cassie want to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.

"God, are you really that naïve?" Cassie dissolves into peals of derisive laughter. "I think I'd rather take my chances in a cardboard box."

"How much... how much have you had to drink?" Rachel ventures, like she's trying to find any excuse for Cassie's behaviour.

"Oh, I've had lots of Listerine, Schwimmer. Lots and lots." Cassie leans close, exhaling directly into Rachel's face, and snorts with laughter when Rachel scrunches up her nose and recoils away from her. "That bad, huh?"

In a fit of pique, Cassie moves to tip the contents of her purse over the stone steps, trying to unearth her key, but Rachel gently prises it out of her hands before she has the chance.

"Here, let me help."

"I don't _need_ your fucking help, Schwimmer," Cassie snaps sharply, "So why don't you go and annoy someone else?"

"I'm not leaving you like this," Rachel vows, through gritted teeth, and Cassie pushes past her when Schwimmer finally succeeds in unlocking her door.

"Aw, you want to hold my hair back while I puke? Cop a feel while you're helping me to put on my pyjamas?"

"Cassandra..." Rachel regards her sadly, and Cassie whirls around to face her, practically spitting venom.

"OK, what do I have to say to make you go away?"

Rachel's eyes are awash with hurt, but she regards her stubbornly. "There's nothing you can say."

Cassie lets out a bark of laughter, flicking on the lights as she staggers her way towards the kitchen. She pours herself a glass of ice-cold water and hastily gulps it back, wiping her mouth on a nearby towel. It's only then that she realises her lips are bleeding, and she stares at the specks of crimson with narrowed eyes. Apparently, the bastard was even rougher with her than she thought. She doesn't have time to feel sorry for herself, though, not when Schwimmer's gaping at the bottles on her kitchen counter like she's a poster child for Alcoholics Anonymous.

"I would offer you a drink, but that would imply that I actually want you to be here, and frankly, Schwimmer, you're already outstaying your welcome."

Rachel ducks her head, and Cassie realises that she's finally starting to get to her.

"Do you realise how pathetic you are?" she continues, and her lips curl up in disdain, "You're so desperate for me to fuck you, you're following me around like a lost puppy. Where's your self-respect, Schwimmer?"

"Judging from the way you look right now, you're not in a position to lecture _anyone_ about self-respect," Rachel retorts, and Cassandra gapes at her for a moment, before bringing her hands together in a slow clap.

"Well, would you look at that? It looks like someone's finally growing a backbone."

"I don't want to fight with you," Rachel beseeches, and Cassandra rapidly closes the distance between them, advancing towards her until she has Schwimmer cornered against the kitchen wall.

"Oh, I know," she assures her, trailing her hand along the in-seam of Rachel's pants. "I know _exactly_ what you want, Schwimmer."

She pushes Rachel up against the wall, kissing her without any of her usual finesse. It's just pure, carnal passion; hungry, demanding, and unrelenting. For a moment, Rachel kisses her back, and their teeth clash as Cassie thrusts her tongue into Rachel's mouth, dragging her hands over Schwimmer's breasts, but then Rachel turns her cheek, struggling to extricate herself from Cassandra's crushing embrace.

"Not like this," she pleads, and Cassie raises an amused eyebrow.

"Oh, really?" she purrs, "Because I'd be willing to bet that if I stuck my hand between your legs right now, you'd be dripping wet. Shall we take a look and find out?" she teases, fumbling with the buttons of Rachel's pants, but Rachel grabs her wrists, wrenching her hands away.

"Stop it!" Schwimmer practically screams at her, and it's like a slap to the face. Cassie looks at Rachel, really looks at her, and she can see how terrified she is. Cassie's hands go limp, and she immediately lets her go, hastily stepping back. Then it occurs to her that really, she's no better than that prick in the bathroom, and the realisation is enough to bring her to her knees.

"Don't you get it?" Cassie whispers brokenly, "I destroy people, Schwimmer. That's what I do. Lydia's in the hospital because of me, because I got some kind of sick kick out of tormenting her. And you know what the worst thing is? I didn't even realise that I'd gone too far." Her voice breaks, and she hastily swipes at her eyes. "I don't... I don't want to do that to you. So if you know what's good for you, then you'll get the hell out of my house."

"Cassandra..." Rachel kneels down beside her, gently rubbing her back. "You always told me that I didn't understand your methods, but I do. After I came back from that audition, I realised that you were right: NYADA isn't going to prepare us for what it's like out there. YOU are. You're hard on all of us - me more than most - but it's not your fault that Lydia wasn't tough enough to take your criticism, OK? Miss Tibideaux just... she needed a scapegoat, and you were the easiest option."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like being a bitch, Schwimmer?" Cassie counters, and she's practically snarling now, "That badgering wide-eyed little ingénues like you - until they cry, or quit - just really gets my juices flowing?"

"Then why are you so upset about Lydia?" Rachel reasons, and Cassie's face crumples.

"Don't touch me," she says sharply, flinching away from Rachel's comforting caresses, because as much as she'd like to believe Schwimmer's reassurances, she can't. "And don't make me say it again. You need to go, Schwimmer. Now."

Rachel shakes her head, showing no signs of relenting, and Cassandra finally loses it.

"GET OUT," she screams, and it's loud and savage and she doesn't understand why Rachel isn't running for the hills.

"I'm not going anywhere," Rachel tells her again, and Cassie sucks in a hitching breath when Rachel wraps her arms around her.

"Rachel, _don't._ Please," she begs, and her tone is desperate this time, "I need a shower and I..." Cassie covers her face with her hands when Rachel softly strokes her hair, placing a feather-light kiss against her shoulder.

"It's OK..." she reassures her, in a tone that's brimming with compassion, and Cassie shakes her head, still trying to struggle her way out of Rachel's oppressive embrace.

Rachel won't let her go, though, and Cassie can't hold back the tears anymore. She hugs her knees to her chest and sucks in a ragged breath, and when Rachel scoops her up, cradling her close, Cassie's intermittent sniffles turn into racking sobs. She hasn't let herself cry like this in years, and once she starts, she can't seem to stop. She cries because her career's in ruins again, she cries because her mother isn't around to tell her that everything's going to be OK, she cries because Carmen was the only person in the world who had any faith left in her, and now it's all gone. But most of all, she cries for Lydia, for the girl she destroyed without sparing her a second thought.

It feels like she's drowning, like she can't get enough air between her anguished gasps, but Schwimmer holds fast, like an anchor that won't budge. Cassie makes one last attempt to pull away from her, because this is humiliating, and she lost enough of her dignity in that restroom tonight, but Rachel gently tilts her chin upwards, compelling her attention.

"Cassandra, look at me," she implores, and Cassie's heart lurches when she realises that Rachel's crying, too, "You need to stop trying to push me away, OK? Because I want to be here. I want to be with you."

Cassie swipes at her eyes, regarding her incredulously.

"Why?" she chokes out, "I'm a f-fucking mess, Schwimmer, and you d-deserve s-so much better than this."

Rachel ducks her head, and then takes a deep breath, meeting Cassandra's gaze with watery-eyed resolve.

"Because I lov - "

"No," Cassie warns her, wagging a finger in Rachel's face. "Don't say that. Don't you _dare_ say that, you stupid little girl."

"Well, it's true," Rachel informs her, and her admission provokes a fresh onslaught of tears from Cassandra. She finally unfurls from her foetal position, wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist, and she cries quietly into Rachel's shoulder while Schwimmer strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks and whispers words that Cassie's too distraught to hear. Rachel holds her until she's nothing but a wilted, empty shell, and then she tugs gently on Cassie's hand.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. Where's the bathroom?"

Cassie gestures listlessly towards her bedroom. She's too exhausted to do much more than flop down onto the toilet seat while Schwimmer raids her bathroom cabinet. She watches Rachel retrieve some bubble-bath and start filling up her tub with steaming hot water, and it feels like she's in a dissociative state.

"Close your eyes," Rachel murmurs, and then she starts blotting at Cassie's face with some cleansing wipes. Cassie sputters out a half-hearted protest, but when Schwimmer just continues along her merry way, all she can do is concentrate on breathing through her nose, because it feels like something died a slow and painful death in her mouth.

"Ow," Cassie protests, when Rachel gingerly peels off her false eyelashes, "Try and leave some skin behind."

"Don't be such a baby," Rachel reprimands her, and Cassie almost manages a smile.

"Why are you wearing so much make-up?" Rachel continues to gripe as she adds to the ever-expanding collection of soiled wipes on the bathroom sink, "You're so pretty, you don't even need it."

Cassie doesn't know how to respond to that, so she just clutches the rim of the toilet seat and tries not to think about how close Schwimmer's standing to her right now. Rachel gently brushes her hair aside, and Cassie hears a sharp intake of breath.

"Cassie?" Rachel ventures, and something about the troubled tenor of her tone makes Cassie's eyes fly open. She sees the anxious expression on Rachel's face, and then feigns interest in the tiles on the bathroom floor, because she knows what's coming next.

"What happened to you tonight?" Rachel reaches out, tenderly running her thumb over Cassie's lower lip. "Your lip's bleeding and you have... you have a bruise on your neck."

Cassie stumbles to her feet, checking out her war wounds in the mirror. Sure enough, there's a lurid purple hickey – complete with bite marks - where that grubby leech attached himself to her.

"Just some douche-bag who wouldn't take no for an answer," she mutters, and Rachel hovers over her shoulder, looking alarmed.

"Did he - "

"No," Cassie reassures her, squeezing Rachel's hand. "Don't worry, I sent him scurrying off with his dick between his legs."

Schwimmer's shoulders slump with relief, and she lets out a hollow laugh, but then her expression clouds over again. Cassie closes her eyes when Rachel traces the outline of the bruise with her fingertips, pressing a kiss against her neck that's so far removed from the brutality she was subjected to earlier, it's nearly enough to make her break down all over again.

"Are you OK?" Rachel asks her worriedly, and Cassie nods, pulling her into a heartfelt hug.

"I am now," she whispers into Rachel's hair, but she's not prepared for the wave of nausea that washes over her. "Whoah," she says, stumbling backwards, and Rachel supports her flagging frame, depositing her back onto the toilet seat. She turns off the faucet, and then moves to help Cassie get undressed.

"Does this have a zip, or..."

Rachel gently hikes up Cassie's dress with the intention of lifting it over her head, and Cassie doesn't have time to warn her that she threw her decimated thong in a trash can on the way home. The look on Schwimmer's face when her hands make contact with bare skin and she realises that Cassie's not wearing any underwear is like a balm to Cassie's battered soul, and she finally remembers how to laugh.

"I, um... OK, wow. I didn't realise you were... "

Rachel's eyes are as wide as saucers, but she isn't averting her gaze, and Cassie can't help but find her adorable. She tries to struggle her way out of the tight material herself, and she's surprised when Rachel reaches out again, helping her to pull off the dress in its entirety. Schwimmer's eyes rake over her naked body; awed, appreciative, and a little bit bashful. She looks utterly transfixed, and the steam from the bath must be making Cassie a little hot under the collar, because she doesn't blush. Not like this.

"I can take it from here, Schwimmer," she assures her, because if Rachel keeps looking at her like that, she's going to forget how tired - and tanked - she really is. "You can go... crash on the couch or something."

"Are you sure?" Rachel ventures, and Cassie laughs, wincing at the stabbing pain that lances through her lip.

"Well, unless you want to give me a sponge bath?" she can't help but tease.

Schwimmer licks her lips, and looks like she's actually considering it. When her eyes wander back to Cassie's breasts, Cassie takes her gently by the shoulders.

"Out," she orders, pushing Rachel towards the door. Her smile rapidly fades, though, when she gets into the bath and sets about scouring away the remnants of that dickwad's vile touch. She doesn't stop until her skin is bright pink and stinging violently, and then she leans over the sink, brushing her teeth and scrubbing her tongue until she can't taste her impending hangover anymore.

She empties the sullied bath water, and then fills the tub up again, sinking back into the bubbles. She closes her eyes, and lets herself drift off, to a place where her future doesn't look depressingly bleak, to a place where she isn't on the brink of losing everything, to a place where alcohol isn't her only escapism and she can dance without feeling encumbered by all the shit that's going on in her life. Maybe there, she won't feel guilty about the feelings she's developing for Schwimmer; she won't keep waiting for Rachel to find a better option; and she won't be absolutely fucking terrified of giving in to the happiness she feels whenever Schwimmer's around. She knows she can't afford to get used to it, because it won't last. It never does.

There's a tentative knock on the bathroom door, and Cassie jerks back to reality, stifling a sigh.

"Cassandra? Can I come in?"

Cassie rolls her eyes, not even bothering to preserve her modesty.

"If I say 'no,' are you going to listen?"

Rachel tentatively pops her head around the door, and Cassie gets her answer. Rachel hands her another glass of water and some painkillers, and then she returns with a medley of fruit from Cassie's fridge, topped in strawberry yoghurt.

"I see someone's been making themselves at home," Cassie observes wryly, but she's moved by the gesture, and she can't do a damned thing to hide it.

"You need to eat something," Rachel urges her, almost as if she knows Cassie hasn't touched a morsel of food since she left the hospital.

"I will," Cassie reassures her, feeling another pang of self-reproach when she thinks of Lydia. "Just let me get finished up in here first."

"OK, well... goodnight," Rachel says softly, and Cassie's a little taken aback when she leans over the bath, cupping her cheeks in her hands. Cassie tilts her head upwards, meeting Schwimmer's lips as they brush lightly against her mouth.

"'Night, Schwimmer," she murmurs, and then she catches hold of Rachel's hand, pressing a lingering kiss against her knuckles. "And thank you. For everything."

* * *

Cassie finds it difficult to sleep at the best of times, but apparently, she hasn't got a hope in hell of getting some shut-eye when Rachel's around.

"God Almighty, Schwimmer," Cassie curses, blinking into the sliver of light that's emanating from her bedroom door. "What is it now?"

"Do you have a b-blanket I can b-borrow?" Rachel asks, and Cassie can hear her teeth chattering from across the room. She realises that she was so wasted when she got home, she didn't even bother putting the heating on, and the thought of Schwimmer valiantly trying to weather the cold on her couch makes something inside of her ache. Especially when she considers how long Rachel must have spent sitting on her doorstep, freezing her ass off.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, just... get in here," Cassie says, flinging back her comforter, and Rachel doesn't waste any time clambering into bed with her. Her feet are freezing, and Cassie yelps in protest when they make contact with her bare calves.

"You're like a block of ice," she observes, feeling a little guilty as she rubs some warmth into Schwimmer's juddering frame. "Come here."

She opens her arms, and Rachel burrows into her embrace, snuggling against her. Cassie pulls the comforter tightly around them, and continues to gently rub Rachel's back, until her eyelids start to droop and she's too damn tired to care that she's about to let someone sleep over for the first time in a decade. The motion of her hand gradually slows to an intermittent caress, but it doesn't matter, because Schwimmer isn't shivering anymore.

"I'm going to be like a bear with a sore head in the morning," Cassie warns Rachel around a lingering yawn, and she can feel Schwimmer smiling against her shoulder.

"You're like a bear with a sore head all the time," Rachel counters, and Cassie laughs, giving her a gentle squeeze.

She rolls over with the intention of reclaiming her personal space, and raises an eyebrow when Schwimmer promptly curls up against her, nestling against her back. Rachel's arm inches around her waist, and Cassie realises that she's somehow been relegated to the status of little spoon. She's about to voice her protests, but then Rachel breathes a sleepy sigh, nuzzling contentedly against her neck. Cassie squeezes her eyes shut as she absorbs the sensation of Rachel's chest rising and falling against her back, and a lone tear trickles down her cheek when Schwimmer plants a kiss against her shoulder blade. She hesitates, and then threads her fingers through Rachel's, clutching Schwimmer's hand against her chest. And then, for the first time in forty-eight hours, she finally sleeps.


	10. Chapter 10

When Cassie blinks through a haze of fog and claws her way back to consciousness, she stares uncomprehendingly at the arm that's nestling against her chest. Then she gets a whiff of strawberry shampoo and fabric conditioner, and if she was capable of moving without seeing stars, she'd be high-tailing it out of here. She must have been roofied last night, because that's the only feasible explanation as to why Schwimmer's in her house, let alone her bed. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to be distancing herself from Schwimmer and all of these pesky feelings. She was supposed to be making a clean break and reclaiming her sanity, because public displays of affection that involve her behaving like some kind of loved-up schmuck in a Rom-Com are not good for her street cred. Or her heart.

Then, the events of last night come flooding back to her, and it's like being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. She remembers sobbing inconsolably into Rachel's shoulder, letting Schwimmer baby her while she acted like some kind of basket case, and revealing a whole lot more of herself than she intended to – both figuratively and literally. Now, the acute sting of embarrassment is even more painful than her pounding headache.

She needs to get her shit together. She needs to find a new job, stop obsessing over a schoolgirl, and remove herself from this clusterfuck of a situation. But first, she has to shake off this excruciating hangover, which isn't going to be easy, because Schwimmer's cosying up to her like a hot water bottle, and it's making Cassie want to snuggle into her warmth and go straight back to sleep again.

"Ugggghhh. Stop drooling on me," she grouses, fumbling in the darkness until her hand collides with the ornate lamp on her bedside table. She flicks it on, but even the muted glow is too much for her to bear. She squints at the clock – it's only 6.37am – and then promptly covers her eyes with her hand, trying to extricate herself from Schwimmer's embrace without making any sudden movements.

Rachel murmurs something unintelligible in her sleep, hooking her leg over Cassie's hip, and Cassie feels like she's getting intimately acquainted with a boa constrictor. Her eyebrows hike up when the hand that's resting in the valley of her breasts re-locates to the surrounding countryside, and for a moment, she stops feeling as sick as a dog.

"Do you make a habit of molesting people while they sleep, Schwimmer?" she demands, as loudly as she can stand to, and she bites back a smile when she hears a sleepy yawn and then a strangled gasp. Schwimmer's hand freezes against her chest, and Cassie wraps her fingers around Rachel's wrist, returning her arm to its rightful owner.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Gropey."

Schwimmer's ears turn pink, but her mortification seems to be short-lived. She props herself up on her elbow, rubbing her eyes, and Cassie avoids meeting her gaze at first, because she can't stand the thought of Schwimmer looking at her like she has "handle with care" stamped on her forehead; like she's going to snap at the slightest provocation. Still, when she finally works up the courage to make eye contact, she doesn't see fear, or pity. In fact, Schwimmer's staring at her adoringly, like her colossal meltdown never even happened.

"Good morning," she says shyly, and her drowsy smile may be the cutest damn thing that Cassie's ever seen.

"No, it's not," she grumbles, curling into a ball and clutching her stomach, "It's the morning from hell."

Schwimmer's smile promptly fades, and it takes Cassie a moment to figure out why.

"Not because you're here," she mumbles, and she doesn't even know why she feels the need to reassure her, "I just..."

She whimpers pathetically, because it's impossible to articulate how crappy she's feeling right now.

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you downed a vat-load of vodka," Rachel counters, and Cassie can't tell whether she sounds sympathetic, or judgemental.

"I'm the teacher around here, Schwimmer. I get to do the lecturing," she reminds her, but then she realises that's not really true any more, and the pain seems to get even worse. "Actually, you're right," she concedes, "Next time I'll just shoot myself in the head."

"That's not funny," Rachel informs her sombrely, "You really... you need to stop drinking so much, Cassandra. If you could have seen yourself last night..."

"Look, I didn't ask you to come here and play nursemaid," Cassie points out, "And I sure as hell don't need you telling me how to live my life."

"OK, OK!" Rachel protests, holding up her hands in submission, "I'm just... I'm worried about you, that's all."

"Well, don't be. I'm a big girl. I know my limits," Cassie retorts, and Rachel regards her in incredulous amusement.

"I'm sorry, was there something you wanted to say?" Cassie demands, but when Rachel opens her mouth to respond, she holds up a finger to stall her.

"Actually, no, forget it. Don't say anything. In fact, just... stop talking altogether. Please," Cassie beseeches, and Rachel bites her lip, ostensibly holding back her laughter.

Cassie knows she should pull away when Schwimmer reaches for her hand, but she doesn't, and she tells herself it's because she's too damn lethargic to move.

"Go back to sleep," Rachel urges, running her thumb back and forth over Cassie's knuckles, and Cassie makes the mistake of trying to shake her head.

"Ow! Fuck me..." she whines, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in the pillow as a shooting pain lances through her temples. She stays perfectly still, hoping to ride out the wave of nausea, and groans when Schwimmer brushes her hair to one side, straddling her lower back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cassie protests, but her eyelids flutter shut when Schwimmer begins gently massaging her neck. Her fingers move in soothing circles, kneading Cassie's scalp with just the right amount of pressure, and Cassie finally experiences a fleeting moment of respite. She can't withhold a contented sigh, and when Schwimmer starts dexterously working out the kinks in her shoulders, she isn't shy about vocalising her approval. For some reason, Schwimmer's thighs tense against her hips and her hands grind to a halt, and Cassie's gratified moan turns into a grunt of displeasure.

"Don't stop," she begs, before she can check herself, and she can only imagine the shit-eating grin on Schwimmer's face right now. Still, Rachel does as she's told, and soon Cassie feels so relaxed, it's an effort to keep her eyes open.

"Go back to sleep," Rachel whispers again, and her touch is softer now. She's combing her fingers through Cassie's hair and gently stroking her back, and Cassie tries to resist the pull, she really does, but it isn't long before she's dead to the world.

* * *

When Cassie wakes up again, the bed's empty and she feels chilled to the bone. She heaves herself into an upright position and cocks her head to the side, but all she can hear is the house settling around her. She can't really blame Schwimmer for bailing on her – she probably looks like road-kill and smells like a distillery, and her attitude this morning obviously didn't give Rachel much of an incentive to stick around. It's not like she could even ply her with sex; not when the slightest movement made her want to toss her cookies. Cassie knows she's too fucked up to date a fresh-faced kid; that she has nothing to offer Schwimmer outside of the classroom, and it looks like Rachel's finally figured out that she's lusting after a lost cause, too.

Cassie squares her shoulders, forcing herself to swallow the disappointment – because why should she care, really? - and then she gingerly kicks back the covers. It takes a moment for the room to stop spinning, and she stays rooted to the spot, waiting for the nausea to subside. It doesn't, and she barely makes it to the bathroom before she's heaving her guts up, retching violently into the toilet. Eventually, there's nothing left to regurgitate, and she scrunches her nose up, hastily flushing the chain. It's a monumental effort to haul her sorry ass into the shower, but she slumps against the tiles, letting the spray go some way towards revitalising her. She stays there for a long time, feeling empty and exhausted, until it occurs to her that she should probably start saving on her electric, because she only has a couple of month's living allowance left in her bank account. She hastily soaps herself up, shampooing her hair and splashing some cold water on her face, and then she brushes her teeth until her gums start to scream in protest.

Her hand hovers over the thermostat as she walks slowly back to her room, but she opts not to turn the heating on, bundling herself into a fleece and some pyjama pants instead. Then she makes her way towards the kitchen, and her mouth falls open when she sees a stack of freshly washed dishes on her draining board. Her counter-tops are gleaming, there's no sign of the empty bottles from last night, and her washing machine's in the middle of a rinse cycle. It's almost like Schwimmer's trying to make some kind of comment about her slovenly tendencies.

Cassie's gaze falls on the note that's been taped to the breakfast bar, and she warily picks it up.

"_Went to buy some groceries & pick up a change of clothes. I'll be back soon. Drink lots of water. Rachel xoxoxo"_

Cassie rolls her eyes, but her heart starts thudding with relief, and she gladly takes Rachel's advice, quenching her thirst with a glass of water and throwing a couple of painkillers into the mix. Then she turns around, and realises the cabinet that's become her designated mini-bar - the one that houses her emergency stash, not to mention the wine she pulls out on the rare occasions she has someone over - is completely empty. She gapes at the barren shelves in disbelief, and momentarily forgets that she's an ailing woman. She runs to the window to check out her recycling can and, sure enough, it's chock-full of empty bottles.

"That little cunt," she curses, but then she starts laughing because, really, only Schwimmer would have the gumption to raid her cabinets, throw away hundreds of dollars worth of booze, and then run off with her house key.

Muttering under her breath, Cassie traipses back to her room and blow-dries her hair. She glances in the mirror, wincing at her sickly pallor, and then dabs on some moisturiser, hoping that it'll rehydrate her drawn skin. She coats her chapped lips with cocoa butter, relieved to see that they're quickly starting to heal – not that it really matters, because she doesn't plan on kissing that sanctimonious little shit anytime soon. Then she burrows back under the covers, and waits.

She's just starting to doze off again when she hears the front door clicking open, and her mouth sets in a grim line as she inches off the bed. She storms towards the hallway, just in time to see Schwimmer walking through her door laden with groceries and what looks suspiciously like an overnight bag. If Cassie had a chivalrous bone in her body, she'd offer to help her, but right now, she's content to just watch her struggle... even if Schwimmer does look kind of hot in her scandalously short mini-skirt, which Cassie's pretty sure she wasn't wearing last night.

"Hold it right there, Mary Poppins," Cassie proclaims, trying her best to look intimidating, even though she still feels like the living dead, "You've got some nerve, kid, I'll give you that."

"Please don't be mad at me," Rachel pleads, and she turns doe eyes in Cassie's direction, laying down the bags and handing her a plastic cup. "I bought you a smoothie."

"Oh, well, in that case, all is forgiven," Cassie says, sarcastically. She snatches the cup out of Schwimmer's hands, pulling off the lid and sniffing it experimentally. It smells OK, so she takes a tentative sip, and she has to admit, it doesn't taste bad, either. She just hopes she can hold it down.

"I did it for your own good," Rachel informs her earnestly, and Cassie snorts with laughter.

"What are you now, my mother?" she snaps, and Rachel's eyes dart towards the picture on her hallway wall - an enlarged snapshot of Cassie and her Mom after she'd nailed her opening night performance in NYADA's production of 'Sweet Charity.' She'd played Charity, of course, and her Mom had travelled all that way to see her, even though she was terrified of flying. It's the last time Cassie can remember being truly happy, and the camera had caught them in an unguarded moment of affection, beaming at each other.

"She was beautiful. You look just like her," Rachel says softly, and Cassie's too fragile for this right now, so she decides to lash out instead of acknowledging the compliment.

"Oh, so you've been nosying around here, too? Well, that's just _great,_" she snipes acerbically. "Are you sure you don't want me to give you the guided tour, so you can check out all the skeletons in my closet? Maybe rifle through my underwear drawer while you're at it?"

"Look, I'm sorry, OK? But you were asleep and I was just... trying to make myself useful, that's all. I _wasn't_ snooping around," Rachel says, a little defensively. "And I know you're annoyed about me throwing all of your alcohol away, but really you should be thanking me, because I'm just trying to spare you another morning like this."

Schwimmer juts out her chin in defiance, but Cassie can see that she's upset, and she heaves a heartfelt sigh.

"OK, OK, don't get your panties in a wad," she eventually capitulates, and she bends down, helping Rachel to lift the brown paper bags onto the counter, even though it only exacerbates the throbbing in her head. They lapse into a strained silence, until it eventually becomes too much for Cassie to bear.

"Schwimmer, it's the weekend. Don't you have homework to do, or something?" she asks wryly, and Rachel shakes her head.

"No, I'm all up to date. I don't believe in leaving things until the last minute."

Of course she doesn't. She's a regular Goody-Two-Shoes. A Goody-Two-Shoes with two left feet.

"Then you should be out having fun with your friends, not running around my loft with a feather-duster. I can clean up my own mess," Cassie informs her, quietly. "I was just... having a bad day yesterday, that's all."

"I know," Rachel assures her, and Cassie glances down at the hand that comes to rest against her wrist, "But I don't mind."

Cassie vows to try and be a little nicer to Schwimmer, seems as though she's spent the past twelve hours catering to her every whim.

"What's in the bag?" Cassie enquires, laying a hand on Schwimmer's hip as she peers over her shoulder.

"I'm going to make you soup," Rachel announces, and Cassie's heart melts as she watches her unpack a myriad of fresh vegetables.

"You don't have to do that," she protests, but Rachel just throws her a look that says, _"try and stop me."_

"OK, fine," Cassie concedes, "Then how much do I owe you?"

"What?" Rachel looks genuinely befuddled by the question.

"I might be out of a job, Schwimmer, but I'm not a charity case, and I'm pretty sure you're more broke than I am. So how much do I owe you for all of this stuff?"

"Oh my _God._ Will you please just let me take care of you?" Rachel explodes, in a sudden fit of temper, and Cassie tries not to laugh when she finds herself on the receiving end of a stubborn glare.

She holds up her hands, backing away. "OK, fine. I'll just go and park my ass on the couch, shall I?"

"Yes, you do that," Rachel says primly, but she's smiling now. "Cassie?" she ventures hesitantly, gesturing towards the stereo system, "Would it be OK if I put on some music? I'll keep the volume down."

"Knock yourself out," Cassie acquiesces, because how can she say 'no' when Schwimmer's intent on becoming her house slave? "The CDs are in that storage unit over there. But then again, you probably know that already," she teases, and Rachel narrows her eyes.

"Oh, and Schwimmer? No singing along, OK? My head's pounding enough as it is."

Grinning, Cassie makes her way towards the living room, but then she doubles back on herself, flicking on the thermostat. She doesn't want Schwimmer shivering like an over-excitable puppy that's just been reunited with its owner.

She collapses onto the sofa, curling into a ball, and tries to adjust to the sounds of someone pottering around her kitchen. Schwimmer might be in the other room, but Cassie's still hyper-aware of her presence, and it's... it's not as claustrophobic as she was expecting it to be. Even last night, when Rachel was snuggled into her side, she didn't feel smothered, she felt... well, she doesn't want to _think_ about how she felt, because then she'd have to acknowledge that Schwimmer isn't invading her space, she's filling a void.

Cassie retrieves her laptop from the coffee table, opening her browser in the hopes of discovering that Julliard, Tisch or AMDA are miraculously in the market for a new dance instructor. But really, who is she kidding? Her reputation precedes her, and not in a good way. Even if Carmen can find it in her heart to give her a good reference, Cassie knows that she'll be lucky to find a prestigious Arts College willing to take a chance on her... which means she's destined to end up in a high school drama department, fending off the advances of acne-ridden, horny teenage boys. She'd rather jump off Brooklyn Bridge than spend her life humouring kids with barely an iota of her talent.

"Cassandra?"

"What?" Cassie asks distractedly, but then she sees Schwimmer standing in the door frame, sporting an insufferably smug smile. Cassie squints at her suspiciously, wondering what Rachel's hiding behind her back.

"Look what I found."

Cassie's cheeks flush when Rachel gleefully thrusts a copy of _Britney Spears' Greatest Hits: My Prerogative_ in her face. Damn it to hell. She should have known better than to give Schwimmer free rein over her music collection.

"What was it you said about my performance of 'Oops'?" Rachel asks her, and her eyes are sparkling mischievously. "That my song choice was _garbage_?"

"Look, I bought that CD when I was too young to know any better, OK?" Cassandra protests, "And I haven't listened to it in years," she hastens to add. _Not since your little peep show, anyway._

"Really? Because it was right on top of the pile," Rachel counters, and Cassie bites back a grin.

"Are you calling me a liar, Schwimmer?" she ventures, with a dangerous lilt to her tone.

"Yes," Rachel retorts, and then she turns on her heel, practically skipping out of the room. "Oh, and I saw your Backstreet Boys compilation, too," she calls over her shoulder – once she's at a safe distance, of course - and Cassie can't hold back her smile anymore.

A couple of minutes later, the opening strains of 'My Prerogative' waft into the room, and Cassie rolls her eyes, resisting the temptation to sing along. She can hear Schwimmer making quick work of dicing the vegetables, and for a whole five minutes, Rachel manages to stay true to her word, keeping the volume at a reasonable level. Then, apparently, the compulsion just gets too much for her to bear, and Cassie jumps a mile when she belts out:

"_I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic?"_

"Are you trying to tell me something, Schwimmer?" she yells, wincing as a searing pain shoots through her skull. Still, it's almost worth it when Rachel's giggles echo around the loft, and Cassie wonders when hearing Schwimmer laugh became more appealing than making her cry.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of her, and she creeps towards the kitchen. The enticing aroma coming from the stove doesn't make her want to hurl, which she takes as a good sign, and she's feeling steadier on her feet this time around. Her heart starts beating a little harder when she sees Schwimmer dancing around the room, exaggeratedly lip-syncing to 'I'm a Slave 4 U' while she pours some stock into a large saucepan.

She's clearly under the impression that nobody's watching her, because she's dancing with an uninhibited enthusiasm that Cassie's never seen from her before. Cassie's first instinct is to laugh, but her brain won't comply, because Schwimmer doesn't look comical, she looks _hot_. Watching Rachel writhe suggestively against her kitchen counter is doing a lot more for her woes than the painkillers she swallowed this morning, and Schwimmer's skirt isn't leaving anything to the imagination. For a moment, Cassie's hypnotised by the rhythmic cadence of her ass as she gyrates to the beat, but when Rachel flips her hair back and arches against the counter, looking like she's straining towards something unattainable, Cassie can't take it anymore. She clears her throat, and Schwimmer's shoulders promptly stiffen. She looks mortified for a moment, but she must see the desire in Cassie's gaze, because her expression seems to shift, and Cassie looks on in amusement as Schwimmer resumes her impromptu performance, only this time, she's actually singing out loud.

"_What's practical is logical, what the hell, who cares? __All I know is I'm so happy when you're dancing there,"_ she proclaims, beckoning for Cassie to come closer.  
_  
"__I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it, I cannot control it. I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it, I'm not trying to hide it,"_ she sings, and her tone is like liquid sex as it meshes with the pounding bass.

"Schwimmer, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, it's kind of wasted on me right now. I'm not a well woman," Cassie reminds her, but Rachel seems undeterred, continuing to wave temptation in her face until, yes, Cassie really wants to dance upon her.

"Are you done with that?" Cassie demands, gesturing to the soup, and Rachel nods.

"It just needs to simmer for a while and then – mmmm."

The wooden spoon that Rachel's holding clatters to the floor as she wraps her arms around Cassie's neck and leans into the kiss. Even though Cassie instigates the embrace, Schwimmer kisses her back like she's been aching to jump her all day, and she must have healing hands, because Cassie isn't feeling the effects of her hangover anymore.

"You really need to stop with this 'I'm not a girl, not yet a woman' crap, Schwimmer," Cassie informs her between breathless kisses, before their lips reunite in another tantalising game of give and take. The music's still playing in the background, and Cassie decides to take a leaf out of Schwimmer's book, using Britney's salacious vocals to further her cause. She re-visits her lesson from the other morning, edging her thigh between Schwimmer's legs and rolling her hips in time with the pulsating beat. It's different this time, though, because they're facing each other, and Cassie's breathing gets a little shallow when Schwimmer starts to tentatively grind against her. Rachel's still too reticent, though; too self-aware, so Cassie edges her hands beneath Schwimmer's skirt, cupping her ass through the fabric of her tights and drawing her impossibly closer. She guides her movements until they find an agreeable rhythm, and Schwimmer finally stops acting like a kid in a candy store who's been told that she can look, but not touch.

Their eyes lock, and they rock into each other until they're practically scissoring standing up. It's like a battle of wills to see who will crack first, and Cassie purses her lips, trying not to be distracted by the intimate trajectory of Schwimmer's hands, or the rapt look on her face. She presses closer, trailing her fingers over Rachel's thighs, mapping the curve of her hips, letting her fingers glide over the smooth planes of her back. Schwimmer gasps and squeezes her eyes shut, looking like she's poised to come apart already, and Cassie draws her into a sultry kiss, rolling her hips in perfect tandem with the teasing motion of her tongue. Rachel shudders against her, but Cassie isn't letting her off the hook that easily. She steps back, and tries not to laugh at the disappointed expression on Schwimmer's face.

"I think someone's a little over-stimulated," she teases, kissing a molten pathway along Rachel's neck, "At least make me work for it, Schwimmer."

"Are you sure you're up to the challenge, _Miss July?_" Rachel retorts, "Because you're looking a little peaky."

Cassie narrows her eyes in a Medusa-like glare – the one that never fails to make her students piss their pants - and realises how much trouble she's in when Rachel just laughs at her.

"You're going to rue the day you questioned my sexual prowess," Cassie warns her, and Rachel doesn't waste any time in calling her bluff.

Schwimmer's kisses are more assertive now, more demanding, and her new-found confidence is sending Cassie's libido into overdrive. Schwimmer's whimpering into her mouth, and what she's doing with her tongue is so damn erotic, Cassie has to fight the urge to forgo the pleasantries and throw her up against the counter. Instead, she embraces Rachel from behind, edging up the fabric of her sweater until she's touching bare skin. It's easier than looking at Schwimmer's face and watching the parade of unchecked emotions, and it's easier to control her reaction to them, too. She runs her hands over Schwimmer's stomach and gradually ventures higher, brushing the underside of her breasts until her nipples are begging for attention. Rachel's clothing isn't giving her much room to manoeuvre, though, and Cassie sighs in frustration, burying her face in the crook of Rachel's neck.

"You want to seduce me, Schwimmer?" she murmurs, brushing her lips against Rachel's pulse point. "Then how about you take off your clothes? All of them. Now."

"Here?" Rachel squeaks, "But I..."

"Take them off, or I'll do it for you," Cassie commands, tugging impatiently on Rachel's sweater, "And I can't guarantee that you'll get them back in one piece."

Rachel's eyes widen, and all of her bravado seems to disappear. She moves to lift off her sweater, but Cassie can see that her hands are shaking.

"Whoah, wait a second," she says, grasping Rachel's elbow and gently turning her around. "You have had sex before, right?" she ventures, and she can't resist poking fun of her, even though she's anxious to hear her response, "With someone other than yourself, I mean?"

Rachel regards her in faintly-veiled outrage, and her cheeks flush in indignation.

"Of course I have."

"Well, then, what's the problem? Because you got one hell of an eyeful last night," Cassie reminds her, "And you know what they say. Tit for tat."

Cassie bluntly drags her fingernails over the length of Schwimmer's spine, and then deftly unfastens her bra. She drops to her knees, peppering Schwimmer's stomach with open-mouthed kisses as she lifts up her sweater. She lets the fabric drag over Rachel's sensitized skin as she painstakingly peels it off, and she can feel Schwimmer's muscles fluttering and contracting in her wake, but when she divests Rachel of her bra, Schwimmer self-consciously hugs her hands to her chest, and Cassie realises that she's not anywhere near as confident as she pretends to be.

"Come on, Schwimmer," she coaxes, giving Rachel a gentle nudge, "A week ago you were all set to eschew Hello Kitty for me."

"That was before I saw you naked," Rachel blurts out, and then she ducks her head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, it's just... you're so beautiful, Cassandra, and you have the most amazing body. I'm not... I don't..."

"Rachel, stop," Cassie interjects, lightly stroking Schwimmer's shoulder until her skin erupts in goose-bumps. "This isn't a compare and contrast exercise, OK?"

"But you called me Shrek!" Rachel reminds her, and Cassie has to turn away so Rachel won't see how desperately hard she's trying not to laugh.

"Well, then, let me make it up to you," she suggests, lowering her voice seductively, but apparently Schwimmer isn't that easily sold.

"OK, that's it," Cassie huffs, and she lifts Rachel's chin with the crook of her finger, forcing her to maintain eye contact. "Give me your hand," she commands. It takes a couple of seconds, but Schwimmer finally obliges, and Cassie doesn't waste any time in thrusting Rachel's hand into her underwear.

"Oh my God," Rachel breathes, and she's looking at Cassie like she's just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.

"You feel that, right?" Cassie asks, and her eyelids flutter shut as she encourages Rachel to delve a little deeper, "That's how much you turn me on, Schwimmer, so how about you quit being such a prude, OK? "

"OK," Rachel readily agrees, and Cassie bites back a moan when she continues her exploration unaided, and - by some cruel miracle - manages to stumble upon her clit.

"Oh no, you don't," she chastises, tugging insistently on Rachel's wrist until Schwimmer reluctantly stops fumbling her way towards ecstasy. "I get to go first."

She presses a kiss against the back of Rachel's hand and then sucks lightly on her finger, and Cassie's pretty sure that she's never seen anyone look quite so turned on before. She drops her head to Rachel's breasts – which are perfect, and maybe she'll consider telling her that at some point - and sucks lightly on her nipples, swirling her tongue back and forth until Schwimmer throws her head back and lets out a keening cry. Cassie winces when Schwimmer's hands fist around her hair – apparently, she hasn't completely shaken off her headache, after all – but she's so consumed with lust, she doesn't even care.

"Cassie, please..." Rachel begs, and Cassie looks up at her through lowered lashes.

"Please, what?" she asks innocently, laughing when Rachel levels her with a look that's half-pout, and half-glare.

"Touch me," she implores, and Cassie smiles against Rachel's sternum, pulling down her skirt and tights in one fell swoop. Schwimmer's strangled gasp evolves into a wanton moan as Cassie moves to stand behind her, stroking her through the fabric of her underwear. Schwimmer's soaked to the skin, and Cassie has to take a moment to compose herself when the heady scent of her arousal washes over her, like some kind of potent aphrodisiac.

She wraps an arm around Schwimmer's waist to support her quivering frame, and then slowly increases the pressure of her hand, until Schwimmer's bucking against her erratically.

"Cassandra, oh my _God_, I... Cassie," she pants, and when Cassie reaches up to thumb her nipples in time with the rhythm of her hand, Schwimmer's knees buckle and she goes completely limp. Cassie catches her before she can keel over, cradling her close, and crosses orgasm number one off her list.

"It's OK, I've got you," she murmurs, and she picks Rachel up, praying her nausea doesn't rear its ugly head again as she carries Schwimmer back to the bedroom. She deposits her gently on the bed, and Rachel caresses the back of her neck, drawing her into a lingering kiss.

"That was unbelievable," she enthuses, looking up at her in starry-eyed awe, and Cassie can't help but laugh at her.

"Oh sweetie, I'm just getting started," she teases, and Schwimmer bites her lip, kicking off her tights, which are still hanging precariously around her ankles. Rachel has the kind of legs that Elle MacPherson would envy, and Cassie just stares at them for a while, running her hands over Schwimmer's enticingly smooth skin.

"Do you want me to take these off?" Cassie asks, gesturing towards her pyjamas, "Because I wouldn't want to blind you with my hotness or give you a complex or anything."

Rachel slaps her lightly on the arm, and then reaches out to unzip her fleece, and Cassie knows she'll never get tired of seeing Schwimmer's reverent reaction to her physique – in fact, it's almost enough to make the years of gruelling workouts worth it. She strips off completely, and Schwimmer bashfully follows suit, shying away from Cassie's appreciative gaze.

"Rachel..." Cassie ventures, clearing her throat, "If I ever made you feel self-conscious about your body, then I'm sorry. Because you're stunning. Really."

Rachel's chin trembles a little, but she smiles into Cassie's tender kiss, and it isn't long before they're picking up where they left off. It's all going swimmingly, until Cassie slides down the length of Schwimmer's body, brushing her nose against Rachel's stomach as she licks and nuzzles her way towards third base. She plants a delicate kiss against Rachel's inner thighs, blowing softly against her skin, and Schwimmer's legs promptly clamp shut. She might as well be wearing a chastity belt, and Cassie regards her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"What's wrong?" she asks, laying a soothing hand on Rachel's thigh, "Let me guess, your selfish prick of an ex-boyfriend wasn't a big fan of eating out?"

Rachel blushes, shaking her head vehemently. "We never did anything like this," she confesses, and if it was anyone else, Cassie would carry on regardless, because vanilla's always been way too sweet for her, and she doesn't make a habit of sleeping with women who act like blushing brides on their wedding night. Still, there's something about Schwimmer's apprehension that makes her heart ache and, before she knows what she's doing, she's reaching for Rachel's trembling hand, threading their fingers together.

"You want me to stop?" she ventures softly, re-situating herself until they're laying side-by-side. She's never cared enough to ask before.

Schwimmer hesitates, and Cassie can see a million insecurities racing through her mind. Then she shakes her head, almost imperceptibly.

Cassie presses a kiss against Rachel's forehead, which is already damp with perspiration, and then moves to her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. She can't resist intensifying the contact, and Schwimmer encourages her to deepen the kiss, pulling her downwards until Cassie's virtually lying on top of her. They're skin-on-skin; silk on satin, and the sensation of Schwimmer's breasts rubbing against her own is almost enough to make Cassie forget what she was setting out to do in the first place. Almost, but not quite.

"You're sure?" she clarifies, and Rachel takes a deep breath, looking like she's bracing herself to be hit by a freight train.

"I'm sure."

"Then I'm going to need you to unclench your legs, Schwimmer," Cassie says wryly, and Rachel tentatively obliges. She's still a little tense, though, and Cassie heaves a long-suffering sigh.

"Rachel, look at me," she compels, tenderly stroking Schwimmer's cheek, "Just relax, OK?"

And then Schwimmer's gazing up at her with blind faith and unwavering trust, and Cassie wonders what the hell she did to warrant it, because Rachel knows how cruel and callous she can be. A part of her wants to teach Schwimmer a lesson, to punish her for her naivety, to shatter her innocence, but she can't bring herself to say the scathing words that are on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she drops her head to Rachel's breasts and eases two fingers inside of her, curling into liquid heat. She isn't sure if the ensuing moan comes from her own lips, or Schwimmer's, but she lets Rachel adjust to the sensation before she experimentally picks up the pace, stroking deep inside of her. It's obvious that she's hitting all the right spots, because Schwimmer goes from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye, and there's a point where Cassie thinks she's going to set the Guinness World Record for the quickest orgasm since the dawn of time. Rachel clings to her convulsively, arching off the bed and chanting her name, and there's a moment where she opens her eyes and desperately seeks out Cassie's attentive gaze. Cassie's heart lurches when she sees the doting look on Schwimmer's face, the love that's shining in her eyes, and she has to look away, because this feels way too intense. It doesn't stop her from squeezing her thighs together and groaning when she feels Schwimmer clench and spasm around her fingers, though.

She barely gives Rachel the chance to recover before she buries her face between Schwimmer's quivering thighs, intent on showing her what she's been missing out on. She wants Rachel to fantasize about this for years to come, to forget why she ever had any reservations in the first place, and - judging from the way Schwimmer's whimpering and writhing beneath her - she's succeeding. Cassie smiles when Schwimmer forsakes her modesty altogether, cupping the back of her head and grinding wantonly against her mouth. She tastes like ambrosia, and Cassie's entire body is thrumming as she puts her mouth to good use, tonguing Schwimmer towards the brink of oblivion.

Rachel unravels with a stuttering gasp, and Cassie glances up at her in amusement when she slumps bonelessly against the bed. She looks completely spent, and Cassie rolls her eyes, because the chances of Schwimmer repaying her in kind are looking bleak.

"Rachel?" she ventures tentatively, poking her lightly in the ribs, "I didn't break you, did I?"

Rachel shakes her head, looking dazed and deliriously happy. Then she seems to realise that she's grinning like an idiot, and covers her face with her hands.

"So, it was that good, huh?" Cassie teases, dropping a kiss against Schwimmer's shoulder. She frowns when she hears a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob, because she thought people crying after sex was just some urban myth perpetuated by sexually frustrated housewives who spend too much time reading trashy romance novels.

Words cannot describe her relief when Rachel turns to face her, because she's still lit up like a Roman candle (and if she's a little misty-eyed, Cassie pretends not to notice). At least now, she doesn't have to make some lame excuse about checking on the soup to escape from Schwimmer's feelings parade.

Then she remembers that Rachel's only nineteen, and when she thinks back to the night she lost her virginity, to some asshole who couldn't get out of there quickly enough once she'd given him what he came for, Cassie's suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to pull Schwimmer into her lap. She bundles them both up in the comforter, and cradles her close.

Rachel sighs contentedly, snuggling into her embrace, and Cassie presses a kiss against her forehead, absent-mindedly stroking her hair. They stay ensconced in each other's warmth until Cassie starts feeling a little sleepy, and if this is the next best thing to Schwimmer screwing her brains out, then she'll take it. Eventually, her eyelids flutter shut, and she feels Schwimmer softly caressing her cheek.

"Awww..." Rachel teases, and there's a spark of mischief in her eyes, "Did I wear you out?"

"I'm just pacing myself. We've got the whole weekend," Cassie reminds her, nuzzling into Rachel's neck, "And when Monday morning rolls around, you won't be able to walk straight," she concludes, pointedly grazing her hand over Schwimmer's thigh.

"You're such a romantic," Rachel says sarcastically, but she's laughing. Then she turns hopeful eyes in Cassie's direction. "So..." she ventures, hesitantly, "Does that mean I can stay?"

Cassie wavers as she considers her response, and then she kisses Schwimmer softly on the mouth. "I think I could stand to keep you around for a while," she admits, begrudgingly.

She didn't think it was possible, but Rachel's smile actually gets wider.


	11. Chapter 11

_**I'm still behind on replying to everyone's feedback - I've barely had time to breathe these past couple of weeks, what with working ungodly hours and writing whenever the opportunity presents itself - but please know that each and every one of your reviews inspire me to keep going, and I'm beyond grateful to everyone who's taken the time to offer their thoughts and encouragement. Thank you so much! I know it's taken me a little bit longer than usual to churn this chapter out, too, so apologies for the delay. I hope it'll be worth the wait!**_

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Cassie leans over the saucepan, casting a critical eye over the long-forgotten soup, but at this point, Rachel doesn't even care if it's salvageable. Cassie's standing on tiptoes, and Rachel can't help but stare at her bare legs, which are all silky skin and sleek muscle. Cassie's feet may have borne the brunt of spending too many years in ballet shoes and heels, but she moves with an in-built elegance that's magnetising to watch.

Rachel moves to stand beside her, and her mouth goes dry when she sees that Cassie's robe is gaping open, giving her a bird's-eye view of her modest cleavage. Then she looks up, and realises that Cassie's following the direction of her gaze with an amused smile.

"Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to cop a feel later," she informs her with a lascivious wink, and Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Do you have to be so crude?" she laments, and Cassie pulls a face.

"Remind me never to have phone sex with you, Schwimmer, because something tells me I wouldn't get a lot of bang for my buck."

Rachel's mouth falls open in indignation. "What were you expecting?" she demands, and then she licks her lips, doing her best impersonation of Marilyn Monroe, _"Please, Miss July, don't make me beg for it. I want you soooo bad,"_ she concludes breathily, and Cassandra's eyes darken.

"Say that again," she demands, and Rachel lets out a startled gasp when she finds herself pressed between Cassie and the kitchen counter.

"I...um..." she stutters, because she's incapable of cognitive function when Cassandra's standing this close to her.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Cassie surmises, and then she smirks, taking a step back. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Rachel releases the breath she was holding, and shoots a dirty look in Cassandra's direction, but it doesn't last for long - not when Cassie's hand comes to rest against her hip.

"OK, Schwimmer, let's see if your culinary skills are any better than your coordination."

Cassie makes a show of scrunching up her nose, and then she gingerly reaches for a spoon, blowing lightly on the steaming liquid. Rachel can't help but sneak a glance at her lips, and her cheeks flush as she remembers what Cassie was doing with them half an hour ago. Then she snaps back to attention, and waits for Cassie's verdict with bated breath.

"Well, it beats the hell out of Campbell's," Cassie concedes, after she's swallowed her first mouthful. She offers Rachel an approving smile, reaching for a couple of dishes and ladling the soup into them. "Consider me impressed."

"Did you just pay me a compliment?" Rachel asks incredulously, pressing her hand against Cassie's forehead under the guise of checking her temperature (really she just wants an excuse to touch her again). "Are you sure you're feeling OK?"

Cassie bats her hand away, offering her a rakish grin. "I'm feeling a damn sight better than I was this morning, that much is for sure."

Rachel beams at her, and then practically skips over to the dining table. She settles into the chair adjacent to Cassie's, and becomes acutely aware of the lingering ache between her thighs when her muscles twitch spasmodically. She's wearing one of Cassie's spare robes, and even though the hemline's closer to her calves than her knees and it's a little tight around her shoulders, the feel of the material brushing against her skin is oddly intimate. She dreamily recalls Cassie coaxing her out from under the covers, draping the robe around her shoulders and caressing the contours of her body, and her stomach starts to clench all over again.

"Come on, Schwimmer, eat up. You're going to need your strength," Cassie coaxes, with a flirtatious lilt to her tone, and Rachel's skin ignites in a hot rush of anticipation as Cassie's words send her imagination spiralling straight into the gutter.

She isn't really hungry, though. Cassie's satiated her appetite in more ways than one, and her stomach's still fluttering with the after-effects of the most mind-blowing sex she's ever had. Granted, there isn't much to compare it to, but she honestly can't envisage it getting any better than this. She's used to having sex under the cover of darkness, swathed in bedsheets, and she always thought it would be mortifying to expose herself to someone completely; that it would be hard to look them in the eyes afterwards. She was scared Finn would judge her if she made it all about her own needs, and she didn't want to make him feel inadequate, so she just went through the motions and hoped that one day, she might understand what all the fuss was about.

She does now, and she feels like her whole world has shifted on its axis. She's been fantasising about this moment for months, but if she's honest, a part of her was always terrified that Cassandra was more than she could handle; that she would eat her alive and turn this into some kind of victory sport, where sex was just another weapon in her arsenal. Their relationship has always been combustive, and the fireworks were inevitable, but Rachel didn't expect Cassie to make her feel _this_ good, to the point where she was so consumed with desire, she was willing to shake off all of her inhibitions.

When she glances across the table at Cassie, she doesn't feel that easy familiarity she had with Finn - she doesn't feel safe, or secure - she feels like she's walking on a tightrope, desperately clinging to her equilibrium; trying not to be distracted by the adrenaline coursing through her veins or her heart thudding against her chest. Her senses have never been this heightened before, and it's not just about the way Cassie touches her – as though she knows every button to press without even trying - it's about the smell of her perfume; the sound of her voice; the realisation that (when they're not obscured by layers of make-up) her eyes are actually pale green, not Arctic blue. It's about the way Cassie stares at her when she thinks no-one's looking, and those small moments of solicitousness.

Cassie's hair is all over the place and her complexion is still a little wan, but she's so effortlessly beautiful, she could pass for a movie star. Rachel knows a lot of pretty girls, but none of them can hold a candle to Cassandra, and – even though it's presumptuous - she can't help but imagine what it would feel like to wake up to this every morning; to trade insults over breakfast, to come home and curl up together every evening. Cassie's completely sober, but she's still letting her stay the night, and that alone is enough to make her heart swell to the point of bursting, even if she still feels completely out of her depth. Cassie's like Samantha in _'Sex in the City,'_ and Rachel's still trying to kick her inner Charlotte to the curb - but it's exhilarating, and liberating. In fact, she's never felt this happy before, and she's pretty sure it isn't just some post-coital rush of endorphins.

"Look, Schwimmer, I know I just rocked your world and now you're obviously under the impression that the sun shines out of my ass, but can you please stop looking at me like that? It's freaking me out," Cassie warns her, and Rachel immediately averts her gaze.

"And you think _my_ ego's out of control?" she counters, finally turning her attention to her soup.

She forces down a few mouthfuls, steadfastly evading eye contact, but she can feel Cassie watching her from afar. She looks up, and sees the trappings of an affectionate smile playing on Cassie's lips. She quickly tries to mask it, but Rachel levels her with a knowing grin, and Cassie's eyes crinkle at the corners, even as she's rolling them despairingly.

"Schwimmer... you do know this is just sex, right? That you're only here right now because I'm waiting for you to return the favour?" she asks, and - even though the words sting - Rachel takes heart from the fact that it sounds like Cassie's trying to convince herself more than anybody else. Her eyes are still alight with warmth, and Rachel suspects she's just engaging in her usual brand of psychological warfare.

"Are you at least going to let me finish my dinner first?" she retorts, and Cassie pretends to consider her response, levelling Rachel with a wry smile.

"I guess I can cut you some slack, considering you went to_ so _much trouble."

"You know, it didn't feel like _"just sex"_ when you kissed me goodbye in front of the entire class," Rachel reminds her quietly, trying to keep her tone light as she watches Cassie start to squirm, "Or when you turned up at my place to make me feel better after that audition." "_Or when you fell apart in my arms last night," _she's tempted to add, but then she thinks better of it, because Cassie's already starting to look uncomfortable. "But if you want to pretend that we're just... doing it like they do on the discovery channel, then fine."

Cassie nearly chokes on her soup, and Rachel represses a grin. She never thought she'd see the day when she was capable of making Cassandra crack a smile, let alone laugh, and it's enough to make her start believing in the impossible – that maybe Cassie has feelings for her, too; feelings that extend beyond the simplicity of sex with no strings attached (although there's never been _anything_ simple about the gamut of emotions Cassandra puts her through).

She impulsively reaches out, covering Cassie's hand with her own, and her insides throb when she remembers exactly what her fingers are capable of doing. For the barest hint of a second, Cassie responds to the contact, letting her thumb brush lightly against the back of Rachel's hand, but then she hastily jumps to her feet, and Rachel doesn't miss the way she casts a fleeting glance at her empty liquor cabinet.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Cassie asks, as though nothing just transpired, and Rachel nods her assent.

"Just some water, please."

Moments later, Cassie lays a glass on the table, but she doesn't sit back down. Instead, she retrieves her empty bowl and moves towards the sink, turning on the faucet.

"I can do that," Rachel protests, and Cassie's back seems to stiffen slightly.

"I'm not an invalid," she snaps, and Rachel tries not to flinch when she all but slams down the dish-washing liquid.

"I know," Rachel assures her, getting to her feet and gathering up the utensils that are dotted around the kitchen. "I'm just glad you're feeling better, that's all," she concludes mildly, handing her bowl to Cassie.

Cassie casts a sideways glance in her direction, and then throws the dish towel in her face. At first, Rachel thinks it's some kind of concession, but then she sees the distant look in Cassandra's eyes and the rigid set of her jaw, and realises that now would probably be a good time to shut up. She wishes she had the ability to predict - or understand what she does to provoke - Cassie's mood swings, because even though she's getting better at reading the nuances of her body language and deciphering the intricacies of her expressions, Cassandra still leaves her feeling _way_ off balance sometimes.

Treading on eggshells, Rachel reaches for a dish, hastily drying it off. Giving Cassie her space isn't easy when they're practically standing on top of each other, but she tries not to do that creepy staring thing again. Eventually, Cassie stops laying the crockery on the draining board and starts handing it to her directly, and every time their fingers brush, Rachel bites her lip, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the dishes so Cassie's kitchen doesn't end up looking like the floor of a Greek restaurant.

Eventually, she can't stand the silence anymore, so she walks over to the stereo.

"I swear to God, Schwimmer, if you play that album again..." Cassie warns her, and Rachel's hand freezes in mid-air. She settles for Queen's Greatest Hits instead, and inwardly breathes a sigh of relief when Cassie starts drumming her fingers against the counter-top, subtly swaying her hips to the beat of 'Another One Bites The Dust.' She turns to wipe down the stove, and Rachel takes the opportunity to resume her unabashed ogling, letting her eyes rove over Cassie's slender physique while she's oblivious to her attention. She whips her head back around when Cassie returns to the sink, feigning interest in the patterned tiles on the kitchen wall, and feels a blush creeping over the back of her neck.

When Cassie starts absently singing along with 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' Rachel throws her a cursory glance, before hesitantly joining in. She steels herself for a blistering put-down, but Cassie just starts singing more loudly, so Rachel follows suit, until they're both belting it out in earnest. Rachel takes the falsetto and Cassie takes the bass, and it isn't long before Cassie's troubled demeanour gives way to a broad grin. Her frown lines vanish, and she looks about ten years younger when she starts playfully hamming it up. Their vocal acrobatics echo around the loft, and they keep dissolving into uproarious laughter, before picking up where they left off.

"_Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,"_ they sing in perfect unison, and then Cassie goes an octave higher:

"_For me..."_

"_F__or meeeee..."_ they both shriek discordantly, and then they lose it completely. Rachel laughs so hard, her stomach muscles start to cramp, and when Cassie starts rocking out to the instrumental, clearly thinking better of it once she realises that head-banging isn't conducive to recovering from a hangover, tears of mirth start to pool in Rachel's eyes. She catches hold of Cassie's wrist, pulling her close.

"Cassandra..." she starts to say, but then she sees Cassie's carefree smile begin to falter, so she just kisses her instead, trying to convey what Cassie won't let her say out loud. It's hard when they're both still laughing, and they have to keep breaking apart to re-compose themselves, but it isn't long before Rachel gets caught in a haze of sensation all over again.

Nobody's ever kissed her like this before. Finn's always been more prosaic than passionate, Jesse was all tongue and no technique, Noah was too overpowering, Blaine – well, Blaine was just a disaster waiting to happen, and Brody's never piqued her interest enough to warrant taking their relationship to the next level. At the time, Rachel was so enamoured with the idea of someone actually liking her, none of that stuff really seemed to matter, but now she's starting to feel like she kissed a lot of well-meaning frogs before she finally found her Princess. Or her Wicked Witch, as the case may be.

She can't pinpoint exactly what it is that makes Cassie's kisses so perfect - maybe it's just because she's more experienced; maybe it's because her lips are so much softer; maybe it's just _her_, but this is the first time it's felt right enough to rid her of any reservations. She doesn't have to convince herself that this is what she wants, because she feels it with every fibre of her being. Her only concern is whether Cassie shares the sentiment, but judging from the way she's kissing her back right now – with a probing, but leisurely intimacy that suggests they have all the time in the world – this isn't just some kind of power trip for her. Not anymore.

Eventually, Rachel stops over-thinking things and just loses herself in the moment, and it feels like that point in a performance where she stops obsessing over the arrangement and worrying about the lyrics, and just lets go. She thought music was the only thing that allowed her to tap into that kind of instinctive emotion – that performing was the only way she could feel dizzy with elation and utterly alive – but apparently, there's something even better.

She's so engrossed in the electrifying kiss, she barely notices when Cassie starts edging them back towards the sink - she just blindly follows her, keeping her eyes shut as she cups Cassie's face in her hands, willing her not to flee from the intimacy. They only open again when Cassie sucks lightly on her bottom lip and then slowly pulls away, and Rachel barely has time to register what's about to happen before she's being doused in freezing cold water. She squeals in protest as the spray from the pre-rinse nozzle soaks through her robe, and she shivers violently, regarding Cassie with a murderous expression.

"I'm sorry, Schwimmer, but you looked like you needed hosing down," Cassie says, by way of explanation, and her shoulders are shaking with laughter, "You should probably take that off, though," she adds, gesturing to Rachel's sodden robe. "I wouldn't want you catching a cold and putting your voice out of commission."

Cassie reaches out with the intention of undressing her, but Rachel side-steps her advances and makes a grab for the nozzle herself.

"You could have just _asked_," she says, and then she turns the spray on Cassie and hits her squarely in the face. Cassie coughs and sputters in outrage, and Rachel feels a little thrill of excitement when her eyes flash with anger.

"Oh, you're going to pay for that," she declares, and Rachel giggles, jumping over the puddle of water on the linoleum floor.

"You're going to have to catch me first," she gleefully retorts, running in the opposite direction.

"Schwimmer, you'd better not be leaving a wet patch on my carpet..." Cassie warns her, and then they start chasing each other around the loft like a couple of overgrown kids. When Cassie finally tackles her, leaping over the sofa and wrapping her arms around her waist, Rachel collapses into her embrace without putting up much of a fight. They're both breathless with laughter, and sopping wet, and when Rachel reaches out to tuck Cassandra's straggly hair behind her shoulders, Cassie regards her with an expression that makes Rachel feel positively giddy.

She knows Cassie won't expect her to take the initiative, so she impulsively unties her belt and lets her robe fall open. The covetous look on Cassie's face instils her with some much-needed confidence, and Rachel's eyes start to wander again. She moistens her lips with her tongue when she notices Cassie's nipples standing out in stark relief against her wet robe, and Cassie hisses with pleasure when she drags her fingertips over them.

"What were you saying about making me pay for... for getting you all wet?" Rachel ventures, in a voice that sounds a little hoarse.

Apparently, Cassie really does relish her feeble attempts at talking dirty. Her expression hardens with resolve, and her eyes take on that diabolical glint which spells trouble of the best possible kind. She grasps Rachel's shoulders and pushes her towards the bedroom, and this time, she's not treading lightly. Rachel hits the bed with an audible "thud" and gladly leans into Cassie's punishing kiss. It's still spine-tinglingly good, and she doesn't feel embarrassed about the wetness pooling between her thighs any more.

* * *

Cassie's as demanding in the bedroom as she is in the dance studio and - as per usual - she doesn't mince her words when it comes to appraising Rachel's technique.

"OK, Schwimmer, how about you stop stalling and get to the good stuff?" Cassie commands, and Rachel gasps when she trails a hand over her inner thigh. "That's presuming you even know how," she adds with a mocking smile, and then she presses into her without any warning, moving her hand in maddeningly slow circles.

Rachel's vision goes a little hazy, and she finds it hard to concentrate on what Cassie's saying when she increases the pressure of her touch.

"I could always break out my compact mirror and give you an anatomy lesson?" Cassie teases, and her eyes are sparkling mischievously.

Rachel narrows her eyes, doing her level best to look offended. "That... that won't be necessary, thank you."

"OK, well, in that case, I want you to fuck me, Schwimmer. I want you to suck on my clit until your tongue starts to cramp, and then I want your fingers inside of me. Do you think you can manage that?"

For a moment, Rachel's rendered completely speechless. Cassie may have eased her into this gently, but clearly she's not a fan of the softly-softly approach herself. In fact, she seems determined to abide by her earlier mantra - that this is just sex - but Rachel's so turned on right now, she's more than happy to play along. She's tempted to salute and say _"yes, mistress; your wish is my command,"_ but she settles for a hesitant, "I can... try?" instead.

Cassie laughs, pulling her into a fervent kiss, and Rachel hopes her inexperience isn't too obvious as she unties Cassie's robe and summons up the courage to do what she's wanted to do since pretty much the first moment they met.

Pleasuring Finn never required much finesse, and it's not like they ever really... experimented, so Rachel doesn't have a clue where she's going with this, but the desire to touch Cassie is overwhelming, so she just follows her instincts and hopes for the best possible outcome. She kisses her way from Cassie's neck to her collarbone, smiling when she gets a brief insight into how fast Cassie's pulse is racing, but her smile rapidly fades when she sees the bruise that's still marring her flawless complexion. Her heart constricts as she's reminded of the events of last night, but when she brushes her lips against the angry purple mark in a repeat of her earlier tenderness, Cassie flinches away from her.

"Don't," she says firmly, and Rachel looks at her questioningly, but Cassie just seizes hold of her hands, placing them on top of her breasts. Rachel's cheeks turn pink, and Cassie rolls her eyes.

"Are you going to do something with those, or do you expect me to feel myself up?" she demands, and Rachel knows she can't afford to be shy. She doesn't _want _to be, not when Cassie's finally giving her a chance to take control.

She runs her tongue along the length of Cassie's sternum, lavishing her breasts with attention, and feels a thrill of satisfaction as she watches a pink flush spread across Cassie's chest. She flicks her tongue over Cassie's taut nipples, and grins triumphantly when Cassie purses her lips and makes a low, guttural noise in the back of her throat. Her eyes are still open, though, and she's watching Rachel with unnerving intensity, like they're back in class and she's poised to criticise her every move.

Rachel doesn't feel clumsy anymore, though, not when Cassie's breathing is becoming increasingly laboured. She strokes her fingers over Cassie's stomach, gradually venturing lower, and traces the outline of the mole that's situated just above her pelvis. She presses a kiss against Cassie's neck, and then sucks lightly on her shoulder - long enough to leave a faint mark of her own. Cassie's hands rake over her hips and come to rest against her ass, and Rachel bites back a moan, because being able to touch Cassie like this is somehow just as arousing as being the focal point of Cassie's attention.

Cassie's like a female Adonis, with a body that was made for worshipping, and Rachel would gladly spend the rest of her life paying tribute. She takes her time exploring every inch of Cassie's perfect physique, stroking, licking, and kissing her, until Cassie covers her face with her hands and heaves an aggrieved sigh.

"I haven't got all night, Schwimmer, so can you please just... get on with it?"

Rachel ducks her head and tries not to look deflated, because clearly Cassie isn't enjoying this as much as she is. She pulls back a little, but Cassie wraps her legs around her waist, tugging her forwards until Rachel lands on top of her with an audible grunt.

"I didn't say I wanted you to stop," she reminds her, and her expression is tender as she strokes Rachel's cheek. Her kiss feels like a heartfelt apology, and Rachel can't help but respond, trying not to get too carried away when she absorbs the tantalising sensation of their bodies melding together.

"Am I..." Rachel hesitates, biting her lip, "I mean, is this OK? Are you - "

"Practice makes perfect," Cassie informs her wryly, "And I think you're starting to get the hang of it, Schwimmer."

"Starting to?" Rachel echoes indignantly, but Cassie's eyes are twinkling, and Rachel vows to wipe the smug smile off her face. With trembling fingertips, she slips her hand between Cassie's thighs, watching every nuance of her reaction. She must be doing something right, because Cassie's eyelids finally flutter shut and she bucks off the bed, biting back a curse. Rachel's stomach coils with pleasure as she coats her fingers in Cassie's arousal, and she tries not to whimper as she recalls her earlier words - _"this is how much you turn me on." _Still, even though it's obvious that Cassie's feeling pretty... stimulated, she still seems loath to relinquish control, so Rachel decides to take her earlier request under advisement.

Cassie's legs are spread unashamedly, and Rachel's knees feel wobbly as she shimmies down to settle between them. For a moment, all she can do is stare, and Cassie props herself up on her elbows, regarding her impatiently.

"Schwimmer, if you want to gawk at a vagina, go and watch some porn," she snipes, and Rachel swallows audibly, feeling her cheeks flush.

"C'mere." Cassie reaches out, gently tucking Rachel's hair behind her ears, and then she cups the back of her head, encouraging her to move closer. Rachel breathes in the musky scent of Cassandra's arousal, and suddenly she's yearning to taste her. She brushes her lips over Cassie's inner thighs, feeling Cassie's body tense with anticipation, and then she finally takes the plunge.

Cassie moans, long and low, as Rachel delves into her folds, and Rachel feels the reverberation somewhere deep inside of her. Cassie's sweet to the taste, which is a little ironic, and Rachel grins, finally feeling like she's the one calling the shots when Cassie's legs start to tremble against her cheeks. She licks over her in delicate, even strokes, until she lands on a spot that makes Cassie's hips slam against her face and her hands fist in her hair.

Rachel can't resist glancing upwards from her vantage point, because she wants to see what Cassie's face looks like in the throes of ecstasy, but Cassie just glares at her, like she can't believe Rachel actually had the audacity to move.

"I hope you're planning on finishing what you started?" she demands, hooking her leg over Rachel's shoulder, and Rachel smiles as she thinks back to all those times she helped Cassandra hone her flexibility. Then she picks up where she left off, sucking experimentally on Cassie's clit, and Cassie's breath audibly hitches.

"Fuck me," Cassandra hisses on the back of a ragged moan, and Rachel feels a sense of accomplishment that could rival winning the first-place trophy at Nationals. Emboldened by the sounds of gratification spilling from Cassandra's lips, she changes it up a little, flicking her tongue lightly over the pulsating bundle of nerves, and Cassie's fingers dig possessively into her shoulders.

"A little harder... up a bit... _God,_ that's good... don't you dare fucking move," she warns, and Rachel has to resist the urge to burst out laughing. She follows Cassie's instructions to the letter, grateful for her guidance, and it doesn't take long before she masters the art of getting Cassie to shut the hell up. Cassie's running commentary turns into gasping breaths and protracted moans, and there are no words to describe the satisfaction Rachel derives from watching the Ice Queen melt. Cassie's writhing and panting beneath her, and Rachel's own arousal is getting out of control. She squeezes her thighs together, desperately trying to relieve the tension building inside of her.

"Rachel..." Cassie sighs, like she doesn't just want this – she _needs_ it - and Rachel can't take it anymore. Knowing that Cassie's too far gone to object, she pulls back, hastily replacing her mouth with her hand so she can watch Cassie's face as she falls over the edge. She coats a finger in Cassie's wetness and then gently eases it inside of her, and Cassie lets out a keening cry.

"More," she gasps, but Rachel's so entranced by the sensation of Cassie clenching around her – hot and wet and tight – she momentarily forgets how to move.

"I said _more,_" Cassie chokes out, and her grip on Rachel's hips becomes almost painful, "And put some elbow-grease into it."

Rachel hastily obliges, letting her thumb brush tantalisingly against Cassie's clit as she thrusts another finger inside of her. She strokes hard and deep, as per Cassie's request, and her heart swells as she watches Cassie's eyelids flicker and her mouth purse and a satisfied smile play across her lips. Cassie fists her hand in the bedsheets, but then she reaches for Rachel, clutching at her desperately.

Rachel's breath catches in her throat as she watches Cassie come apart, and time seems to stand still as Cassie jerks and shudders against her. When Cassie collapses limply onto the bed, her skin's glistening with a light sheen of sweat, her hair is a tangled mess, and her eyes are dark and wild. Rachel wonders if she'll ever stop being taken aback by how beautiful – and unfathomably _hot_ – Cassandra is. She wonders if she'll ever be able to stop staring at her.

Cassie reaches out, wiping Rachel's mouth with her thumb, and Rachel turns her cheek into the touch, planting a kiss against Cassie's palm. The next thing she knows, she's being flipped onto her back, and her heart lurches when Cassie straddles her, levelling her with a look that tells Rachel she's unleashed something primal and powerful. Her stomach twists – whether it's with anticipation or apprehension, she doesn't know - but then Cassie's kissing her like she means it, as though what's happening between them is all-consuming, and her hands are everywhere all at once. Rachel's skin is already hypersensitive, and she's been aching for someone to alleviate the pressure that's been steadily pushing her towards breaking point, so when Cassie sucks insistently on her nipple and plunges two fingers deep inside of her, hitting a spot that Rachel didn't even know existed, Rachel's world explodes in a rush of pure sensation. Cassie rubs her clit with practised skill, and Rachel doesn't even recognise the sounds that are coming out of her own mouth. It only takes a couple of minutes before her entire body's convulsing with pleasure, and the aftershocks leave her trembling.

For a moment, she can't move - it's like she's literally paralysed by the force of her orgasm - and she lets out an undignified whimper when Cassie slowly withdraws her fingers. Cassie looms over her, smiling like the cat that got the cream, and even though her self-satisfied expression is insufferably obnoxious, Rachel can't help but smile back.

"Well, I guess John Lennon was right," she muses, on the back of a sated sigh, "We should make love, not war."

She regrets the words as soon as they're out of her mouth, because Cassie jumps out of bed as though the smoke alarm's just started blaring.

"I'll be back in a minute," she says, and Rachel looks on in bewilderment as the bathroom door slams shut behind her. She groans with frustration, burying her head in Cassie's pillow, and inwardly vows never to say the "L" word in her presence again. She reaches for Cassie's robe, but it's still damp, so she darts towards the hallway and picks up her overnight bag, hastily pulling on a pair of clean pyjamas. Then she flops back onto the bed, wringing her hands as she waits for Cassie to emerge from her sanctuary. Ten minutes later, the bathroom door finally opens, but Cassie doesn't say a word, she just makes a beeline for her closet and changes into an over-sized T-shirt.

"Do you want me to leave?" Rachel asks softly, and Cassie's back becomes taut with tension. Then she shakes her head, barely perceptibly, and Rachel has to blink back tears of relief. She realises, then, that Cassandra's not immune to what's going on between them, she's just terrified of letting her get too close, and she has to fight the urge to reach out to her, to do whatever it takes to breach the last of her defence mechanisms.

"Look, Schwimmer, I'm not girlfriend material, OK?" Cassandra informs her bluntly, perching on the edge of the bed. "I'm not going to take moonlit walks with you or buy you a teddy bear and chocolates on Valentine's Day. Hell, most of the time, I'm going to struggle to even be nice to you. I'm not the kind of person you take home to meet your parents, and I don't do dating. I'd rather just cut to the chase. My longest relationship lasted for three weeks, and it was a fucking disaster."

Rachel knows that Cassie's trying to offer her an out, to make her wake up and realise what she's letting herself in for, but Cassie's brutal honesty does nothing to dissuade her from her mission. She tucks the comforter under her armpits and shifts a little closer, letting her fingertips brush over Cassie's hand.

"OK, number one, I might be young, but I'm pretty sure I've outgrown my teddy bear phase," she begins wryly, and Cassie's guarded expression gives way to a small smile.

"I've got two words for you, Schwimmer," she says, sardonically, "Hello Kitty."

Rachel gives an embarrassed laugh, and vows to donate all of her teddy bears to charity before Cassandra ever sets foot inside of her bedroom.

"Number two, I'm a vegan, so it's easier for me to just forgo the whole chocolate thing. I am partial to dairy-free ice cream, though, but you already know that." Rachel gives Cassie a playful nudge. "And, let's face it, you've _always_ struggled to be nice to me, but I'm still here, aren't I?"

Cassie ducks her head, and Rachel reaches out, smoothing her fingers through Cassie's dishevelled hair.

"For what it's worth, my parents loved you, and I think they probably figured out that I have a gigantic crush on you. And if you want to make it all about sex, then that's fine with me, because what you just did to me..." Rachel's voice catches, and she clears her throat, "I never knew it could feel that good," she concludes, and her voice is shaking.

Cassie looks at her then, and her eyes are shining with some inscrutable emotion that looks a lot like love. She closes the distance between them, pressing a feather-light kiss against Rachel's lips, and it's soft and sweet - all the things Cassie's claiming she could never be. It's obvious that something's still bothering her, though, and Rachel surveys her agitated demeanour with concern.

"What's wrong?" she ventures softly, hoping that Cassie will confide in her. It takes a moment, but the shutters finally start to open.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Cassie confesses quietly. "I needed that job, Schwimmer, and now..." she trails off, shaking her head, and she looks so defeated, Rachel can't stand it.

"Go back to Broadway," she urges without a second's hesitation, clutching Cassandra's arm to emphasise her point. "Start auditioning again."

"I can't," Cassie informs her, but this time her tone isn't clipped and uncompromising, it's full of anguish.

"Cassandra, it was ten years ago," Rachel reminds her, and now they're finally having this conversation, she doesn't plan on letting it go. "They can't hold it against you forever. People change. They grow up. And trust me, when they see you dance – when they hear you sing - they won't be able to say no."

"I had my chance, and I blew it," Cassandra informs her bitterly. "They want someone new, someone fresh, someone the audience can root for. You were right the first time, Schwimmer. You're the future, and I'm the past."

"But you're better than all of us!" Rachel protests. "You said as much yourself."

Cassandra shrugs dejectedly. "It doesn't matter. I don't fit the mould. Not anymore."

"So you're not even going to try?" Rachel can't help but goad, and Cassie whirls around to face her.

"I did try!" she snaps, and her features are twisted with anger, "I spent a whole fucking _year_ trying, Schwimmer. My Agent dropped me, I couldn't find anyone to manage me, I was a fucking pariah. I auditioned for everything – even the bit-parts – and they just laughed me off the stage and told me I was crazy, that I should come back when they turned One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest into a musical. They told me I was a nutjob so many times, I actually started to believe it, and I can't... I can't go through that again. I can't."

Cassandra's voice breaks, and Rachel's gut wrenches as she watches her try to get a handle on her emotions.

"Cassandra, I'm so sorry. I didn't know..."

Cassie turns away from her, hastily dabbing at her eyes, and the compulsion to reach out to her is so overwhelming, Rachel's heart actually starts to hurt.

"Come here," Rachel coaxes, wrapping the comforter around them and pulling her into a heartfelt embrace. Cassandra shrinks away from her at first, but in a mirror of her actions last night, Rachel refuses to let her go until Cassie gives up the fight and slumps against her.

"I'm not crazy, Schwimmer, I just wanted the performance to be perfect, that's all. This is the only thing I've ever been any good at," she mumbles into Rachel's shoulder, and Rachel presses a kiss against the crown of her head.

"It's OK. I know," she reassures her, even though she can only imagine how empty her life would be if she couldn't spend it doing what she loved, "I just wish things had turned out differently for you, that's all."

Cassandra snorts. "Yeah, well, you and me both."

They lapse into a pensive silence for a moment, and Cassie sinks back onto the bed, rubbing her face with her hands. She doesn't offer up any objections when Rachel scoots over to join her, so Rachel snuggles into her side, wrapping her arm around Cassie's waist.

"You could always advertise as a private tutor," Rachel hesitantly suggests, "It's New York, there must be plenty of students who need the extra help, or even just people who want to try their hand at something new. You could be like Jennifer Lopez in 'Shall We Dance,'" she enthuses, and Cassie rolls her eyes, turning onto her side so they're facing each other.

"What, having to pretend that Richard Gere actually has an iota of talent while he shamelessly ogles my ass?" she snarks, but she seems to be considering it. "I'd have to deal with idiots who think that mastering the box step is something to be proud of."

"And you'd have to be nice to them," Rachel points out wryly, "But at least it would tide you over until you found something more permanent."

"Yeah, and what am I supposed to put on my credentials? Recently-fired Broadway has-been seeks rich guy with a vague sense of rhythm to pay her rent?"

"If you want to be hired as an escort, then I guess that could work," Rachel counters, and her lips curl upwards when Cassie's stomach starts shaking with laughter.

"It's not a bad idea," Cassie concedes, looking thoughtful, and that's all the encouragement Rachel needs.

"Where do you keep your laptop?" she demands, and Cassie raises an eyebrow.

"In the living room. Why?"

"Because I'm going to make you a flyer," Rachel informs her with a radiant smile, and she doesn't give Cassie a chance to object. Loath as she is to move from her present position, she bounces out of bed, and then hastily runs to the living room to retrieve the laptop.

She returns a couple of seconds later, handing it to Cassie, and waits for her to type in her password. Then she requisitions it again and leans against the headboard, typing frantically. Cassandra watches her in amusement, and then shrugs resignedly.

"I never got the hang of that clip-art crap anyway."

"Highly-regarded dance instructor with a wealth of industry experience. Spent five years teaching at the acclaimed New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. Well-versed in all disciplines. Can teach at any level; from beginner to advanced," Rachel reads out loud, and Cassie peers over her shoulder.

She reaches across Rachel's lap, deleting the line that reads: _"Call Cassandra July on..."_ and changes it to, "_For further information, call..."_ and then types in her cell phone number. Rachel tries not to look like she's memorising it, and then she turns a questioning look in Cassandra's direction.

Cassie regards her drolly. "If you Googled me, would you want to hire me?"

Rachel bites back a smile. "Point taken."

She puts the finishing touches on the ad, trying not to be distracted by Cassie's proximity, and then she hesitates, reaching for her overnight bag and fumbling around in her front pocket. She emerges with a flash drive and nervously presents it to Cassie.

"I...um... I made you a playlist," she announces shyly, "I was going to give it to you last night, but I didn't think you'd be very... receptive to it, given the mood you were in."

"You made me a playlist?" Cassie echoes incredulously, and her expression seems to say, _"Oh God, I really am dating a child."_

"Not _that _kind of playlist," Rachel hastens to reassure her, realising that Cassandra probably thinks she's about to be subjected to a medley of cheesy love songs, "A motivational one. I thought it might help to inspire you while you're looking for a new job."

"What are you now, my life coach?" Cassie retorts, and Rachel bites her lip.

"No, I'm touched, Schwimmer, really. That was very... thoughtful of you," Cassie says, without the slightest bit of sincerity, and she impulsively snatches the drive out of Rachel's hand, plugging it into her USB port.

When 'I Have Confidence' from _The Sound of Music_ starts blaring around the room, Cassie snorts, clearly trying not to crack up. Then she moves onto the next track – R. Kelly's 'I Believe I Can Fly' – and she can't seem to contain her amusement any longer. She starts cackling with laughter, clutching her stomach convulsively, and when she double-clicks on the next track – Miley Cyrus' 'The Climb' - she positively _howls_.

Rachel would be offended, if Cassie's laugh wasn't so damn contagious.

"What's so funny?" she grouches, but she can't stop herself from giggling as she watches Cassie swipe at her eyes, gasping for breath.

Cassie just shakes her head, so Rachel reaches for the laptop, removing the flash drive before Cassie can find another reason to mock her.

"No! I want to keep it," Cassie protests, and Rachel rolls her eyes, reluctantly handing it over.

"Are you done laughing at me now?" she demands, and Cassie nods contritely, moving the laptop onto her bedside table. She settles back against the pillows, and then beckons for Rachel to join her. They curl up together and lapse into a comfortable silence, which is only punctuated by the sound of Cassie's sporadic chuckles. Rachel takes heart in knowing that at least her efforts had some kind of a positive effect.

"Cassandra, I know that we're not - I mean, I know that you're..." Rachel flounders, staring at the ceiling, "But you do like me too, right?" she finally blurts out, and Cassie heaves a heartfelt sigh.

She reaches out, stroking Rachel's cheek, and when their lips meet in a lingering kiss, Rachel can feel her smiling softly.

"Yes, Rachel, I like you, too... when you're not annoying the crap out of me," she assures her, and Rachel feels like she's floating somewhere high above Cloud 9.


	12. Chapter 12

Rachel may be a gigantic pain in the ass – Cassie was on the verge of forcibly evicting her from the bathroom after she spent nearly forty minutes getting ready for bed – but she can pass for a Disney Princess when she's sleeping. Her hair's fanned out over the pillow, and she looks so young and angelic, Cassie's suddenly painfully aware of the age gap between them. Sure, it's not Roman Polanski levels of perverted, but seeing Rachel like this – lost in a dreamless sleep, like she doesn't have a care in the world - makes her feel guilty for being such an inconsiderate asshole earlier. It's just easier to pretend that she's not emotionally invested in this (whatever the hell it is), because it was never supposed to mean anything, anyway. She never expected Schwimmer to develop _feelings_ for her. When Rachel looks at her with glistening eyes that seem to say, "you're my first, my last, my everything," Cassie has to remind herself that she's just a kid who probably falls in and out of love at the drop of a hat. It's easier to act like the sex is mediocre than admit that she's never been this turned on before – to make Schwimmer feel like an inept novice when, in reality, she's a born overachiever.

All Cassie wanted to do was facilitate Schwimmer's transition from a sheltered schoolgirl to a self-assured woman; dirty her up a bit so she could fulfil her potential and tap into the parts of herself that she was too inhibited to share. A couple of months ago, she thought it would be easy to walk away; she thought the sex would be purely physical, but Schwimmer screws like she sings – she puts her heart and soul into it and holds nothing back - and it's hard not to get caught up in the heat of the moment. Cassie's still desperately trying to keep a safe distance and stay detached (she knows how much it hurt to say goodbye to Rachel the first time around, and she doesn't intend on getting that close again, even if it means all she ever offers Schwimmer is an insight into life beyond the missionary position), but Rachel seems intent on bridging the gap between them. It makes Cassie want to push her to breaking point so they can both stop deluding themselves; to say whatever it takes to drive her away, because she knows it's only a matter of time before Schwimmer comes to the inevitable conclusion that this is never going to work out; that they're about as compatible as Liza Minnelli and David Gest. Cassie could cope with the back-and-forth banter, the countless confrontations, the perverse pleasure she derived from getting Rachel all riled up, but this is a whole new ball game. She's actually starting to care about Schwimmer's feelings, and she doesn't want to get to the point where they take precedence over her own.

Cassie suspects that Rachel's only attracted to her because she's had a taste of what Schwimmer wants so badly – because she knows how to make a mark and get noticed amongst a sea of desperate wannabes - but the allure of dating a failed Broadway sensation isn't going to last for long. Sure, Cassie still has the moves, but she's not the real deal anymore. Someone younger, someone more talented, someone with a _dick_ is probably going to come along and sweep Schwimmer off her feet, and then the novelty of having an illicit dalliance with her former dance instructor is rapidly going to lose its appeal.

There's nothing Cassie hates more than letting someone have sway over her emotions, and the thought of her happiness and sense of self-worth resting in the hands of a nineteen-year-old girl is just... ridiculous. She shakes her head to dispel the disconcerting thoughts, and then picks up her laptop again, comparing rental rates for dance studios in the vicinity of her apartment. She tries to find one that's reasonably priced without looking ramshackle enough to scare off her clientèle, but it's not easy, because her eyes keep drifting over to Schwimmer, who's still fast asleep and apparently intent on staying that way.

Cassie watches the steady rhythm of Rachel's chest rising and falling, and then her eyes rove a little lower, tracing the curve of Rachel's slender hips and the flat plane of her stomach. After seeing Schwimmer prance around her dance studio in short skirts and skimpy leotards, Cassie's had ample opportunity to let her imagination run wild, but the reality of seeing Rachel stripped bare somehow managed to surpass even her most gratuitous fantasies. Schwimmer may still have a few lessons to learn when it comes to the art of sex appeal, but that hot little body of hers speaks volumes.

Cassie's eyes flit back to Rachel's face, settling on her parted lips, and then it suddenly occurs to her that she's doing exactly what she admonished Schwimmer for earlier – gaping at her like a lobotomised moron. Schwimmer isn't cognizant enough to catch her in the act – thank _God_ - but Cassie's cheeks still burn with embarrassment anyway, because this isn't who she is. She doesn't moon over people with hearts in her eyes or drift off into fanciful daydreams, and she sure as hell doesn't stare at people while they sleep, like some kind of sex-starved creeper.

That feeling of panic flares up again, and with it comes the overwhelming need to put an end to this before it spins completely out of her control. She reaches out with the intention of shaking Schwimmer awake, of asking her to leave, and she's already poised to tell her that it's nothing personal; she just needs to get a head start on her job-hunting tomorrow and she could do without the distractions. Her hand hovers in mid-air, but she can't bring herself to follow through with it, and she somehow winds up tucking the comforter around Rachel instead, smoothing an errant lock of hair away from her face. She gently traces the outline of the scar on Rachel's forehead, until the desire to lean over and kiss her becomes too insistent to ignore, and then she hastily retreats, retiring to the bathroom to get ready for bed. She splashes some cold water on her face, but she avoids looking at her reflection in the mirror. She's too afraid of what she might see.

When she returns to the bedroom, Rachel's still a picture of serenity, and Cassie can't help but wish that she would start snoring, or grinding her teeth together, or flailing around a bit – any excuse to kick her out of bed. Even Schwimmer's eyesore of a nose is starting to look endearing, and Cassie rolls her eyes at the implications of that particular observation, reluctantly climbing back into bed. She tries to leave a respectable gulf between them, turning her back to Rachel, but when she reaches out to flick off the bedside lamp, it takes Rachel all of three seconds to gravitate towards her. Cassie holds her breath when Schwimmer snuggles into her side, and for what feels like the umpteenth time in the past few hours, her stomach turns somersaults as her heart wars with her head. She hates how easy it is to give in to this – and it's not like she can attribute it to the alcohol this time around - but it feels so... right, she wonders how long it'll take before she starts actively seeking it out. After her career went down the drain, Cassie vowed that she would never let herself want something so badly again; that she would never let herself care about anything to the point where it became her be all and end all, but then Rachel Berry showed up at NYADA and stopped her from feeling numb to the world, and it all went downhill from there.

* * *

The first time Cassie heard Rachel sing, she was walking past the round room en route to her studio. She was preoccupied with devising a new routine, but Schwimmer's voice stopped her in her tracks, and she completely lost her train of thought. The hypnotic sound was muffled slightly by the dense wooden doors, so Cassie inched them open, and that initial moment of intrigue turned into something else entirely when she heard Rachel's dulcet tones echoing off the convex ceiling. Rachel was singing 'New York State of Mind' and, if it was anyone else, Cassie would have sneered at the predictable song choice, but there was something about Schwimmer's performance that made her remember what it felt like to be young and full of ambition, to be completely in awe of this city and everything it had to offer. It was unnerving, because freshmen weren't supposed to show up and deliver a performance like a pro, and they sure as hell weren't supposed to _move_ her.

Rachel was so animated on stage - every expression on her face seemed to be an exaggerated reflection of whatever emotion she was experiencing at the time – and she'd obviously been trained to wear her heart on her sleeve, for better or worse. Even back then, Cassie could see that she had the makings of a great actress, she just needed someone to help her channel that openness and vulnerability so it didn't seem quite so... affected. She'd almost been impressed, but then she saw the look on Rachel's face when Brody jumped to his feet and burst into a spontaneous round of applause – a look that reeked of smug satisfaction. It was obvious, then, that Rachel knew exactly how good she was and didn't have a humble bone in her body. As someone who'd had to work her ass off to earn a place at NYADA, as someone who'd always been her own worst critic, Cassie was pre-disposed to hate the jumped-up little shits who clearly felt like it was their God-given right to be there; the kids whose parents probably spoiled them rotten and paved the way for them to do whatever the hell they pleased. She was half-hoping that Carmen would make this girl an unsuspecting victim of her freshmen reaping, but Rachel's technique was faultless, and the look of barely-concealed approval on Carmen's face was sickening.

So, when that insufferable little prima donna turned up to her class, clearly expecting to be fawned over - when she'd dared to offer an unspoken commentary on Cassie's fabled hazing ceremony - Cassie was determined to find her Achilles heel and then stomp on it. Repeatedly. She just hadn't banked on Schwimmer being so damn resilient, and the more she saw of Rachel, the more she realised that her self-belief was warranted. It was hard to accuse Schwimmer of having delusions of grandeur when everyone else was heralding her star potential, and when Carmen gave her a golden ticket, Cassie wanted to scream.

She couldn't stop herself from turning up to the showcase, though. At the time, she'd attributed it to morbid curiosity, and she was rooting for Alexandra to teach Schwimmer a much-needed lesson in humility. She'd situated herself as far away from the stage as possible, hiding in the shadows, but she couldn't help but sit up a little straighter when Rachel finally stepped out from the wings. She was wearing a flowing Grecian gown that was way too ostentatious for the occasion – did she think she was about to sing at The White House, or what? - and she had the poise of someone thirty years her senior. Cassie shook her head despairingly, but then Schwimmer proceeded to deliver a pointed "fuck you" that was clearly motivated by Cassie's earlier criticisms, and it cut surprisingly deep. Cassie realised, then, that she'd only seen a fleeting glimpse of what Schwimmer was capable of earlier on in the semester. 'Being Good Isn't Good Enough' offered more of an insight into her jaw-dropping vocal range, and she'd watched Rachel commit the ultimate sacrilege - singing the song better than Barbra herself. She'd belted out notes without losing that ethereal quality to her voice, and the clarity of her tone was never compromised by the awe-inspiring power of her performance.

As much as she'd tried to fight it, Cassie ended up being as enthralled as everyone else in that room, and she couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for Rachel's talent. Even so, there was no way in hell she was joining in the vociferous standing ovation that followed, but when Schwimmer started to cry, looking a little taken aback by the positive reception, Cassie realised that maybe her words had knocked Rachel's confidence more than she'd thought. It should have given her some small measure of satisfaction, but seeing Schwimmer looking all verklempt made something inside of her ache. Then Rachel had quickly pulled herself together and launched into a heart-wrenching rendition of 'O Holy Night,' and it was so beautifully pure and melancholy, it ate through the last vestiges of Cassie's resentment and jealousy until she was blinking back tears and swallowing a pang of nostalgia.

She couldn't get out of there quickly enough, and she should have known back then that she was playing with fire; that maybe she didn't hate Schwimmer half as much as she thought she did. Still, it wasn't until she finally succeeded in making Rachel break down and cry that she realised her feelings for this girl were so much more complicated than she'd initially thought. Schwimmer was an unstoppable force, and - up until that point - Cassie was intent on being an immovable object.

Now, it feels like she's lost her footing completely.

* * *

When she wakes up the next morning, Cassie's lying flat on her back and Rachel's using her as a pillow. Schwimmer's head is resting against her shoulder, and her hand's positioned possessively over Cassie's heart. Cassie smirks a little at the irony, and then bites her lip, briefly letting her fingertips glance over Rachel's hip, but she knows she can't afford to enjoy this too much. She gingerly deposits Rachel onto the nearest pillow and, after a brief pit-stop in the bathroom, she grabs her workout gear and a bottle of mineral water and heads straight for the spare room. It's big enough to house her barre and a scattering of exercise equipment, but there's barely enough floor space left for her to perform her usual set of warm-up exercises and, compared to the sprawling freedom of her dance studio at NYADA, it feels way too confined. She starts with some punishing stretches to limber herself up, and then she hits the treadmill, turning up her iPod in an attempt to block everything else out, until all she can hear is the pounding bass of 'Standing in the Way of Control' and all she can feel is the slow burn in her calves.

She's about to move on to the free weights when Schwimmer pokes her head around the door, and Cassie nearly drops a dumbbell on her foot when Rachel's squeal of delight cuts through the music. So much for getting some breathing space. Schwimmer breaks into an effervescent smile and starts bouncing on the spot, and even though Cassie knows she looks pretty damn good in shorts and a sports bra, something tells her she isn't the cause of Rachel's happiness. She hits pause on her iPod, and raises an eyebrow when she realises that Rachel is freaking out over her elliptical machine.

"...I tried to tell them that it's a crucial part of my morning routine, but my Dads refused to fly mine out here," she's in the midst of babbling, "I had to take the train, so they made me leave it behind, and I can't afford to join a gym at the moment, let alone buy a new one, so - "

"You know what's nice about having a home gym, Schwimmer?" Cassie interjects with a deceptively sweet smile, "You don't have to worry about other people sweating all over your stuff."

Rachel's face falls, and Cassie can't help but laugh when she watches her hopeful smile give way to barely-masked disappointment.

"OK, OK," Cassie capitulates, when Rachel's deflated expression becomes too much for her to bear, "Go raid my closet and find something to wear."

She throws Rachel a clean towel, and Schwimmer actually claps her hands with excitement. Cassie watches her leave with a nonplussed expression, because it should be illegal to be this chipper first thing in the morning.

Rachel returns five minutes later, and the four-inch height difference between them has never been more obvious. Cassie's old NYADA T-shirt is hanging over Rachel's ass, and her three-quarter length leggings are brushing against her bare feet.

"Aw, you're practically a hobbit," Cassie teases, and Rachel narrows her eyes, marching over to her.

"And good morning to you, too," she counters, and Cassie's eyes widen when Rachel stands on her tiptoes, kissing her soundly on the cheek. It's all so... domesticated, and she doesn't have a clue how to react. Fortunately, Schwimmer seems to be more infatuated with the cross-trainer than her, and Cassie watches in amusement as she skips over to it, reverently running her hands over the handlebars.

Cassie flips her iPod back on and tries to drag her attention away from Rachel, but it's not easy when the sound of Schwimmer's breathless singing keeps drowning out her music.

"_Ain't nothing gonna break my stride, nobody's gonna slow me down – oh, no - I've got to keep on moving..." _Rachel warbles, and Cassie yanks out her headphones, glaring at her.

"Seriously?" she demands, and Rachel regards her sheepishly. "Are you going to jump on the rower and start singing 'Sit Down, You're Rocking The Boat' next?"

"Sorry," Schwimmer hastens to apologise, but true to her word, she doesn't break her stride, "I'm just not used to exercising without musical accompaniment, that's all."

"Yeah, well, I've got my _musical accompaniment_ right here, thank you." Cassie gestures to her iPod and Rachel nods curtly, making it more than clear that Cassie's pissing in her proverbial cornflakes.

Rolling her eyes, Cassie plugs her docking station into the power supply and cranks up the volume, but she can't resist changing the track when she sees Rachel's grateful smile.

_"Thorn in my side, you know that's all you ever were,"_ Cassie sings melodically, snorting with laughter when she sees Schwimmer's affronted expression. She ducks out of the way when a towel cuts through the air, veering towards her head, and she tosses it back to Rachel with a wicked grin.

Cassie resumes her reps, but it's hard to concentrate when she can feel Schwimmer watching her every move. She's starting to feel like the dude in the Diet Coke advert – glorified eye candy - so she decides to play up to the part, ensuring that Rachel gets an eyeful every time she flexes and stretches her muscles. She throws in a few ambitious yoga poses and handstand push-ups for good measure, and bites back a smile when she finally succeeds in throwing Schwimmer completely off her rhythm.

"How do you DO that?" Rachel demands, and she looks torn between awe and arousal. Cassie shrugs nonchalantly, throwing her a playful wink.

"I guess I'm just that good, Schwimmer."

When she lays down on the exercise mat to start her sit-ups, hooking her feet under the radiator to keep them grounded, Rachel eagerly moves to join her.

"Oh no, you don't. Trust me, you won't be able to keep up," Cassie informs her, trying to spare Rachel the agony, but Schwimmer seems to take it as a challenge.

"That's what you said about the Winter Showcase," Rachel reminds her with a smug smile, and her 'I told you so' attitude is so infuriating, Cassie decides to make her suffer.

She effortlessly powers her way through the first hundred sit-ups, and it's obvious that Schwimmer's already starting to feel the pain. Her technique's becoming markedly laboured, but she's gritting her teeth determinedly.

"You holding up all right over there?" Cassie teases her, and Rachel's jaw clenches.

"Never better," she assures her, clearly making an effort to keep her expression neutral.

Cassie grins, and then switches it up, locking her hands behind her head and beginning a brutal set of elbow-to-knee crunches. Rachel somehow manages to match her pace, but she's turning beetroot red and shaking with the strain. Cassie drags out the torture for a little while longer, but when a muffled groan escapes from Schwimmer's pursed lips and the veins in her neck start popping with the exertion, she decides to take pity on her.

"OK, stop! You're going to give yourself an aneurysm," she warns, and Rachel flops onto the floor, barely concealing a grimace.

Cassie laughs, straddling Rachel's waist and regarding her affectionately. "You'll do just about anything to prove me wrong, won't you?" she observes, and Rachel stares up at her with a mixture of desire and defiance.

"Yes," she concurs, "So maybe you should stop underestimating me."

"Maybe I should," Cassie agrees, and before she's even registered what she's doing, she's closing the distance between them, drawing Rachel into a languid kiss.

"Come on, let's go grab some breakfast," she says, after she's finally mustered the will to pull away, and Rachel regards her piteously.

"I'm just going to... lie here for a while, OK?"

Cassie laughs, and then scoops Rachel up in her arms, effortlessly hauling her to her feet.

"Better?" she asks, and Rachel nods, pulling a face.

"I can't believe you put yourself through that every day."

"Well, this body doesn't condition itself, honey," Cassie retorts, proudly patting her abs. Rachel's eyes follow the motion of her hands, and Cassie bites back a smirk when Schwimmer unconsciously licks her lips. This may be the most ill-advised relationship she's ever embarked on, but at least she's still holding most of the cards. For now.

* * *

"_I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and GAY..."_

Cassie nearly chokes on her fruit salad when Rachel starts caterwauling in the shower, and that's another reason why it's so damn hard to walk away from this – Schwimmer's ability to make her laugh. Sure, most of the time Cassie's laughing _at_ her instead of with her, but it doesn't change the fact that she's cracked up more in the past few weeks than she has in years, which has to count for something, considering how dismal her life is at the moment.

She manages to restrain herself for all of five minutes before she's edging open the bathroom door and pulling open the shower curtain, and Rachel screams like she's in her very own version of 'Psycho.' She hastily tries to cover herself up, and Cassie laughs some more when she sees Schwimmer's floral-pattered shower cap, which wouldn't look out of place on a seventy-year-old pensioner desperately trying to protect her blue rinse. Rachel quickly yanks it off, looking mortified, but her embarrassment turns into wide-eyed anticipation when Cassie hastily strips off her clothes. Rachel stutters out some half-hearted protests, but they quickly turn into responsive whimpers when Cassie joins her in the shower, pulling her into an insistent kiss. Rachel's arms are trapped between them, and she's still trying to preserve her modesty, so Cassie reaches for her hands, gently prising them away. She pulls Rachel close, until they're flush against each other and the hot spray's raining down on Schwimmer's back, and they trade sensual kisses and leisurely caresses until Rachel's putty in her hands. Then Cassie reaches for the body wash, lathering Rachel up, and it doesn't take much longer before Schwimmer's gasping her name and begging for release. Cassie makes her come so hard, Rachel knocks all the toiletries off the shelf while she's desperately trying to find purchase during her free-fall, and then she slides down the tiles in a trembling heap.

Cassie can't help but chuckle at the sight of a dazed Schwimmer scrambling around on the floor of the shower, trying to salvage her shampoo before it trickles down the plughole, and she reaches for her hand, tugging her back into an upright position.

"It's OK," she assures her softly, "Don't worry about it."

Rachel regards her searchingly, with a look that makes Cassie's heart ache and her pulse rate spike, and she doesn't offer any objections when Schwimmer draws her into a crushing embrace, clinging to her tightly. Cassie holds her close, smoothing Rachel's sodden hair away from her face, and absorbs the sensation of their stomachs rising and falling together, of Rachel's breath coming in ragged spurts against her neck. She can feel the curve of Schwimmer's breasts pressing against her chest, and her nipples throb longingly in response. When Rachel's hands start wandering over her skin, chasing droplets of water, the ache between her legs becomes all-consuming, and soon she's long past the point of caring about the electricity bill. She's always known that Schwimmer was a quick study, but the way she gravitates towards Cassie's erogenous zones, like she's got her all figured out already, pisses her off no end. She tries to clamp down on her reactions and fight for control, but she knows she's only prolonging the inevitable.

"I'm sorry, Miss July," Rachel asks her innocently, like she knows exactly what she's thinking, "Would you like me to stop and wait for your instructions?"

"Screw you, Schwimmer," Cassie chokes out, and Rachel giggles, drawing Cassie into a loving kiss before she retrieves the body wash from the floor and sets about giving her the sponge bath she's clearly been fantasising about since Friday night.

When the water runs stone cold, they both shriek in surprise, and Cassie slams her hand against the power switch, hastily stepping out of the cubicle. Rachel follows suit, and nearly goes flying ass over tit when she slips on the tiled floor. Cassie catches her just in time, and they both dissolve into uncontrollable laughter. Schwimmer looks like a drowned rat, and Cassie has no idea why she finds her so attractive right now, but it doesn't stop her heart from swelling with affection.

* * *

Cassie had the best of intentions this morning – she was going to spend her day diligently searching for jobs, in the hope that Schwimmer would take the hint and leave of her own volition, but Rachel just peers over her shoulder while she's perusing the paper and then offers her opinion on the vacancies she stumbles across online, and Cassie eventually realises that she isn't going anywhere. Not without being dragged. Around midday, Schwimmer slips away to take a call from Kurt, and Cassie snorts with amusement when she overhears their conversation. Rachel reassures him that no, she's not trussed up and wearing a dog collar, and Cassie can't resist creeping into the living room to snatch the phone out of her hand, telling Kurt not to give her any ideas. Rachel laughs – that hearty laugh that's rapidly becoming Cassie's favourite sound – and then kisses Cassie like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Cassie still has no idea how the hell she ended up spending her Sunday afternoon lounging on the couch with Schwimmer, watching 'Dirty Dancing' for the first time in years. She finds Baby's naivety and ineptitude excruciating to watch now, but her inner twelve-year-old – who couldn't decide if she was more enamoured with Patrick Swayze or Jennifer Grey – still isn't quite over the romanticism of this film. It shaped her formative years – and her fantasies – to the point where she used to force her friends to perform elaborate role plays with her. That's the only possible explanation as to why she's currently acting like one of those crazy convention geeks, singing along with the soundtrack and humouring Rachel while she recites the dialogue verbatim.

She doesn't miss the way Schwimmer keeps wincing every time she shifts in her seat, though, and fifteen minutes into the film, Cassie places a pillow in her lap, gesturing for Rachel to lie down.

"Next time, just admit defeat," she says wryly, and after a while, she starts running her fingers through Schwimmer's hair. Rachel's thumb brushes back and forth against her knee, and this is starting to feel way too coupley for Cassie's liking, so when Schwimmer starts singing again, Cassie unceremoniously yanks the pillow out from under her head, and pretends to suffocate her with it. Rachel squawks with outrage, clawing at her arms, and Cassie's shoulders shake with laughter.

Schwimmer settles back down into her lap, and Cassie eventually manages to relax, until they get to the scene where Baby confesses her love for Johnny, and then she starts to fidget uncomfortably.

"_And most of all, I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life, the way I feel when I'm with you,"_ Baby proclaims, and Cassie casts a fleeting glance at Rachel, only to find Schwimmer looking right back at her.

Cassie clears her throat, hastily looking away again. "My legs are starting to cramp. Can you get up?" she asks, and Rachel obligingly sits up, looking at her curiously. Cassie evades eye contact, but she can't bring herself to look at the screen, either. Not when it's only going to result in her mentally re-enacting that glorious sex scene with Schwimmer.

Rachel goes to get a drink just before the opening chords of 'Love Is Strange' start echoing around the room, and Cassie raises an eyebrow when she re-appears a few moments later, draping herself against the door frame.

"Oh, Cassandra?" she asks suggestively, and Cassie cringes with second-hand embarrassment, shaking her head violently.

"_No_, Schwimmer," she objects, at the exact same moment Baby's miming, "Yes, Mickey?"

Rachel just smoulders at her, evidently undeterred. "How do you call your lover boy?" she ventures, and Cassie heaves a long-suffering sigh.

"Get your ass over here and stop being an idiot," she retorts, and Rachel sticks out her tongue, flopping back down onto the couch.

"You're no fun," she admonishes, but she's grinning, and Cassandra can't help but smile, too.

Eventually, the film's feel-good finale starts to eat away at her resolve, and she impulsively reaches for Schwimmer's hand, tugging her to her feet. She motions for Rachel to grab the other end of the coffee table, moving it to the side of the room, and Rachel laughs delightedly when Cassandra pulls her into hold. There's no question about who's taking the lead, and Cassie can't help but snort with amusement when Rachel leans into the opening waist-dip, mumbling a barely audible "ow" when she arches her back. Cassie has to use all of her upper body strength to pull her into an upright position, and she smirks disparagingly.

"Lightweight," she murmurs into Schwimmer's ear, pressing close against Rachel's back. Rachel cups the back of her head, trailing her fingers over Cassie's neck, and Cassie bites her lip, barely suppressing a shiver. Schwimmer doesn't even bother to try, and when Cassie lets her fingertips graze over the length of her arm, she can feel Rachel's whole body coil with anticipation. Rachel gazes up at Cassie adoringly, looking like she's on the verge of proposing or something, and Cassie sincerely hopes it's all part of the act. She gamely kisses Schwimmer on the nose anyway, and grins when it provokes a peal of laughter.

Cassandra can't help but feel a rush of exhilaration when they launch into the routine and she realises that Rachel knows it almost as well as she does, to the point where it's almost second nature. It suddenly occurs to her that Schwimmer probably spent her youth watching countless musicals and memorising every song and dance number she could get her hands on, and maybe they're not that different after all.

Cassie's not sure if getting laid has given Schwimmer a whole new lease on life, or if Rachel's just a better dancer when she's not being judged or scrutinised, but Cassie's actually pretty impressed with her technique. There's still room for improvement, but Rachel seems to know what she's doing for once, and she doesn't flinch away when Cassie gets up close and personal; in fact she seems to actively encourage it. Their eye-contact is scorching in its intensity, and Schwimmer's right – this _is_ fun – and a whole lot more stimulating than Cassie envisaged.

Rachel squeals a little when Cassie effortlessly picks her up, and they manage to do a passable imitation of the penultimate lift, but when it comes to the grand finale, Schwimmer just tackle-hugs her, and they tumble back onto the couch, laughing uproariously. Rachel gazes up at her expectantly and honestly, Cassie's incapable of holding back at this point. She's not even sure if she wants to.

* * *

Cassie's not entirely sure why, but the sex just keeps getting better, and it's not like it was bad to begin with - not even close. Maybe it's because Rachel's more confident, or maybe it's because Cassie's slowly learning to relinquish control, to shut up and let Schwimmer touch her on her own terms, instead of trying to keep the intimacy at a level she's comfortable with. She can actually watch the myriad of expressions on Rachel's face without wanting to run for the hills now, because when she does, she realises that she's not the only one who's in over her head. Schwimmer's drowning, too, and when she looks up at Cassie with those emotive brown eyes that give away far too much, Cassie realises that Rachel's terrified of this blowing up in her face, too. The only difference is that Rachel's willing to fight for it regardless, and Cassie's still too afraid of taking the risk. She just hopes Schwimmer never gets to the point where she realises that it's safer to feel nothing, than everything all at once.

When Rachel collapses into her arms, gasping for breath, Cassie presses a kiss against her forehead.

"So... are you ready to be the talk of the town tomorrow?" she ventures, "You know everyone's going to be gossiping about us after that stunt you pulled last week, right?"

"I can handle it," Rachel assures her.

"I don't know, Schwimmer. NYADA's rumour mill can be pretty inventive – and unforgiving," Cassie warns her. "We're not just talking 'Rachel is a teacher's pet' here. There are going to be a lot of assholes making a lot of unsavoury remarks."

Rachel starts to laugh, and Cassie regards her suspiciously.

"What?" she demands, and Rachel shakes her head.

"Nothing! It's just... that sounds like a regular dance class to me, that's all," she admits, and Cassie regards her in outrage.

"Are you calling me an asshole?" she demands, and Rachel giggles, regarding her impishly.

"I'm just saying, if I survived you, I can survive anything."

"Oh, I get it," Cassie says, pulling away in mock offence, "You're secretly glad to see the back of me, aren't you?"

"No!" Rachel protests, tightening her grip on Cassie's waist. "I'm just... I'm tougher than you probably think." She hesitates, ducking her head. "You were wrong, you know? I wasn't a big star back in Ohio," she admits quietly, and Cassie clutches her chest in feigned surprise.

"What? Say it isn't so!" she exclaims, but then she sees Schwimmer's downcast expression, and feels bad for mocking her.

"Go on," she coaxes, giving Rachel a gentle squeeze.

"I was more of a... laughing stock. People hated me. They threw slushies in my face, drew pornographic pictures of me in the bathroom stalls, defaced my yearbook photos. None of them appreciated my talent. I mean, it wasn't just me, Kurt had a terrible time of it, too – he even had to change schools at one point – and I guess I should be grateful that they never actually tossed me in a dumpster - "

"What the hell kind of school did you go to, Schwimmer?" Cassie interjects, looking aghast, and Rachel chokes out a hollow laugh.

"It wasn't all that bad," she hastens to clarify, "I had Finn – my boyfriend - and being in Glee Club was amazing, but even then, they resented me for getting the majority of solos. I thought it would be different here, that maybe I'd fit in more, but I guess... I guess I'm just not a very likeable person," she concludes, and Cassie feels utterly helpless, because how can she convince Rachel otherwise when she's spent the past five months reinforcing all of her insecurities?

"Well, you might be an acquired taste, Schwimmer, but you've definitely grown on me," Cassie eventually concedes, and Rachel attempts a small smile.

"It's OK. I knew a long time ago that the road to success would be a lonely one. People have started being a little nicer to me since I won the showcase, but I know they're not really my friends. All I have now is Kurt... and Brody, I guess."

"_And me,"_ Cassie wants to tell her, because she knows what it feels like to be utterly alone in this world,_"You have me."_ She can see that Rachel desperately wants her to say it, too, but she can't make that kind of commitment. Not yet. She just holds Rachel a little tighter instead, wincing when she feels a tear trickling down her collarbone.

She realises, then, how badly she's misjudged Schwimmer; that Rachel isn't just some popular little Princess who's had everything handed to her on a plate. Sure, her parents are probably paying for her tuition and they've obviously mollycoddled her to within an inch of her life, but Schwimmer's walking proof that money can't buy you love.

"Anyway," Rachel announces, failing miserably in her attempt to sound upbeat, "What I'm trying to say is that I'll be fine." She pulls away from Cassie's embrace, sucking in a sharp breath when she sits up. "I should probably go now, though. My classes start at nine and I could really use some time to catch up on my sleep."

"OK..." Cassandra says slowly, because she doesn't really know how else to respond.

"Would it be all right if I... if I came back later on this week?" Rachel asks, and Cassie's heart melts in the face of her obvious uncertainty.

"Give me your phone," she says, holding out her hand, and then she programs in her number, ringing her own cell so she has Schwimmer's stored in there, too. "I'll call you, OK?" she assures her, and for some strange reason, Rachel looks like she's about to cry.

Cassie frowns, reaching for her clothes so she can get dressed and see Schwimmer to the door, but Rachel holds out a hand to stall her.

"You don't have to get up," Rachel assures her haltingly, "I can post the key through the letterbox."

Cassie shrugs, and she watches Rachel edge out from under the covers, hastily retrieving her clothes from the floor.

"OK, well... I guess I'll see you later, then," she ventures, and Rachel nods, offering her a strained smile.

Cassie flops back down onto the bed, but then she sees the dejected set of Rachel's shoulders, and it eats away at her to the point where she starts mentally replaying their entire conversation, trying to figure out where the hell she went wrong. Maybe her "I'll call you" remark was too flippant? Maybe Schwimmer thought she was blowing her off? And this... this is exactly why she doesn't do relationships. Too much drama and soul-searching and over-analysing and just... gah.

"Hey, Schwimmer," she calls, and Rachel turns around, regarding her hopefully. "Wicked's opening in a couple of weeks and I still have that spare ticket. Do you want to come with me?"

The transformation in Rachel's demeanour is instantaneous, and Cassie gets her answer when a squealing bundle of joy hurtles towards her, engulfing her in a crushing bear hug, which Cassie readily returns.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," she says wryly, laughing when Rachel pulls back to regard her with a look of wide-eyed wonderment.

"Are you serious? I would _love_ to," she enthuses, and then she grabs Cassie's face, kissing her passionately on the mouth, "Thank you so much. Kurt's going to be so jealous, you have no idea."

Cassie's not used to finding someone's happiness contagious – irritating, yes; even occasionally nauseating, but definitely not contagious. Still, she doesn't stop smiling until the front door swings shut, and then she potters aimlessly around the house, trying not to dwell on how cold and empty it feels now that Schwimmer's gone. She makes herself a cup of green tea, and then flops listlessly back onto the bed, making a grab for her phone when it vibrates against her bedside table.

"_I'm not going to say I miss you already, because that would probably freak you out, but I just wanted you to know that I had the best time this weekend xo." _

Cassie mulls over her reply for a full fifteen minutes, casting aside several facetious remarks before finally texting back, _"Glad I could be of service. And I miss you, too, kid. Sleep well x."_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Again, a massive 'thank you' to everyone who's continuing to read and review this story - especially you wonderful folks who take the time to comment on every other chapter! This is now officially the longest fic I've ever written and, as someone with the attention span of a goldfish who usually sticks to one-shots in obscure fandoms, your feedback is working wonders when it comes to keeping me fired up. This is more of a filler chapter before I move on to the meaty stuff next week, but I have six days off over Easter, so I'm hoping to write a mammoth instalment then. Until next time!**_

* * *

Rachel's all-too-familiar with the sense of impending dread that comes from walking down a crowded corridor and having it fall completely silent. Then, slowly, the whispers start, until she's bombarded with the low hum of ridicule. It's only a matter of time before someone has the nerve to hurl the first insult, and then it's open season. By the time she arrives at her dance class, she's already been asked if Cassie has a dungeon in her basement, if she acquired her golden ticket by performing sexual favours for Carmen Tibideaux, and exactly what being "Cassie's little bitch" entails (complete with a host of profane suggestions). She just grits her teeth and takes the moral high ground, refusing to grace the immature imbeciles with a response, but it's hard to maintain her composure when she walks into the studio and Simon drops to his knees in front of her.

"No, Miss July, please, doooon't go. I love you sooooo much," he wails, clutching her legs, and anger bubbles up inside of her, making her hands tremble and her cheeks burn. She's tempted to kick him in the face, but Kurt steps in before she has the chance.

"OK, you need to back off," he warns quietly, doing his best to look intimidating, but Simon just sneers at him.

"I've got to admit, Berry, I never had you pegged for a rug muncher," he snipes, jostling past Rachel en route to the barre. Kurt squeezes her wrist, regarding her with concern.

"Just ignore him," he urges, and Rachel does her best to look unaffected.

"Being called a lesbian isn't an insult, Kurt," she reminds him, "And besides, I don't think anything could burst my bubble after the weekend I've just had."

"Believe me, I know," he gripes, "I was the one who had to hear about it in explicit detail, remember? _And_ I had to practically air-lift you out of bed this morning."

Rachel's lips curl upwards. "I told you, Cassie and I engaged in a rigorous workout session."

"Oh, I bet you did," Kurt counters drolly, and Rachel giggles, trying not to look like the walking wounded as she settles into her warm-up routine.

"Fair play to you, Berry," Nathan calls from across the room, "I'd tap the hell out of Miss July given half the chance, too."

Rachel wonders if he's trying to be nice to her, but then he snorts with laughter.

"I just don't get why she'd want to hook up with _you, _of all people."

"Yeah, I thought she hated your guts?" Carol Robinson chips in, "Or was that just for show?"

For some reason, their remarks seem to sting more than any of the others, but Rachel turns her back to the rest of the class, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the doubts from creeping in. It's obvious that everyone thinks she's deluding herself – that she's being played for a fool – but she knows the connection she has with Cassie isn't fabricated; that it's worth weathering the abuse for. She focuses on savouring everything that transpired between them this weekend, and tries not to think about Cassie's tendency to blow hot and cold. She's making progress, and that's all that really matters, even if there are still times when Cassie seems to shut her out completely. Still, at least Cassie's cutting gibes seem to have given way to good-natured teasing. At least she isn't saying things that are so casually hurtful, Rachel has to wonder if she has any regard for her feelings at all. Rachel's painfully aware of the fact that she's falling head over heels in love with this woman, and Cassie doesn't have anything approaching that level of fondness for her, but maybe she can wear her down bit by bit, like she did with Finn. Her persistence usually pays off. The fact that she's here at NYADA is proof enough of that.

Rachel snaps back to attention when she hears the door swing shut, and her mouth falls open when she sees a diminutive old lady make her way to the front of the room. Her thinning hair is gelled back into a severe bun, and someone that gnarled should not be allowed to wear a unitard in public. She thought Cassie was joking about her replacement, but her description turned out to be horrifically accurate, and Rachel casts a surreptitious glance at her classmates, who look as taken aback as she does.

Rachel tries not to hate this woman on principle, but it's hard to warm to her, especially when she spends most of the lesson regaling them with anecdotes about her own career. Apparently, she's been plucked out of retirement so she can reminisce about the good old days. Rachel has to admit, she has an impressive resume and she's a veritable fountain of knowledge, but telling them how to do things isn't anywhere near as effective as showing them, and her lesson plan is completely uninspired. They line up in rows and practice the same mind-numbing routine, over and over again, and Rachel's never been so bored in her life.

"Excellent work, Miss Berry," Mrs Dumont congratulates her, and it's a miracle that she can move around the class without the aid of a walker. Rachel jumps a little, somehow managing to summon a gracious smile.

"Thank you, Ma'am," she says, through gritted teeth, because she knows she's distracted and listless and far from being at her best. Cassie wouldn't be complimenting her right now, she'd be kicking her ass.

Mrs Dumont continues to circle them, offering advice and encouragement, but nobody seems to be listening.

"I never thought I'd say this, but is there any chance we can get Miss July back? She might be a crazy bitch, but at least she keeps things interesting," Carol whispers to her clique of friends.

Nathan shakes his head. "I doubt it. I heard she got fired for drinking on the job."

"Yeah, and apparently Berry isn't the only student she's been screwing," Simon informs them quietly. "I was speaking to Neil Ward – he's in her advanced class – and he said she's worked her way through half the upperclassmen. He didn't know she was into chicks, though."

"Are you 100% sure that Berry _is_ a chick? Because if I was a betting man..."

Rachel thought she'd learned to tune out people's hateful remarks years ago, but apparently, there's no such thing as immunity. She purses her lips, blinking back tears, but it isn't the speculation about her gender that bothers her, it's the revelation that apparently she's just another notch on Cassie's bedpost. It would be easier to dismiss the rumours if she didn't already know that there's a grain of truth behind them – after all, Cassie didn't need much of an incentive to sleep with Brody. In fact, she just used him as part of some twisted scheme to get back at her, and if Cassie holds sex in such low regard that she's willing to sleep with someone purely out of spite, then who's to say it isn't a regular occurrence?

Rachel can't ask Cassie if they're exclusive, because she's not entirely sure if she wants to hear the answer, and she knows it'll only succeed in making her look jealous and insecure. She can't help but wonder how she compares to Cassie's previous lovers, though. She thinks about Joanne – the woman from the strip club who's the living embodiment of sex appeal – and it's obvious that she and Cassie were more than just friends at one point. And then there's Brody, who – as Cassie said herself – is the hottest piece of ass at NYADA. Rachel knows she's woefully inexperienced compared to most girls her age (Cassie's already made that perfectly clear) and the more she thinks about it, the more she has to wonder what Cassie sees in her. Carol's right, Cassie used to despise her – at one point, she was even petitioning for her to be banned from Dance 101 altogether - so what provoked the change? Does Cassie genuinely like her, or is she just biding her time until she finds someone else to toy with?

When Mrs Dumont finally dismisses the class, Rachel can't get out of there quickly enough. She doesn't even wait for Kurt, she just heads straight for the bathroom and locks herself in a cubicle, sinking dejectedly onto the toilet seat.

When her cell phone starts ringing, she has to blink away the blurriness before she can see the display, and her heart skips a beat when she sees Cassie's name illuminated on the screen. She takes a moment to gather her composure, but her hands are shaking when she accepts the call.

"Hey. Just checking in to make sure you're holding up OK?" Cassie asks, and Rachel's chin starts to tremble all over again.

"I'm fine," she manages to choke out, because maybe Cassie cares about her after all.

"So, what's the verdict?" Cassie ventures, "Are we front page news? Are they being all kinds of inappropriate?"

"They mostly just want to know what you're like in bed," Rachel informs her, neglecting to mention that a significant portion of the student body reportedly already knows.

"Well, I hope you told them I'm a bona fide Sex Goddess," Cassie jokes, and Rachel can imagine her wry smile.

"Actually, I told them to mind their own business."

"Well, that works, too." Cassie laughs, and Rachel's lips quirk in response. "So, am I still the biggest bitch in NYADA's history, or did someone else steal my crown?"

"I think your legacy's safe for now," Rachel murmurs, hoping her tone doesn't sound as strained as it feels.

Cassie hesitates, and there's a note of trepidation in her voice when she asks, "How do you like your new dance teacher?"

"I don't," Rachel says bluntly, "To say she's past her prime would be an understatement. The lesson was tedious and unimaginative, and she's not..." Rachel wonders if she should say it - if it sounds too clingy – but it slips out anyway, "She's not you."

"Well, you know what they say," Cassie concludes, and her tone is soft now, "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

Rachel nods her agreement, but she can't withhold a hitching sob, because she's starting to think that it's only a matter of time before Cassie walks away from her for good.

"Hey! Are you crying?" Cassie demands, and Rachel sucks in a shaky breath.

"No! Don't be silly. I told you, I'm fine."

"It's a good job you can act better than you can lie, Schwimmer," Cassie informs her, and Rachel bites her lip, desperately trying to get a hold on her emotions.

"You could always... come over tonight. I mean, if you don't have other plans?" Cassie asks her haltingly, and Rachel's palms immediately start to perspire.

"Do you even have to ask?" she manages to say, swallowing back a fresh onslaught of tears, because surely Cassie wouldn't be seeking out her company if she didn't enjoy spending time with her?

"Well, I thought you might need more time to recover from yesterday's escapades, and I'd hate to stand between you and your homework," Cassie drawls, tongue firmly in cheek.

"You're talking to the girl who used to juggle Glee rehearsals, dance classes, voice coaching and an intensive fitness regime, all the while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. I think I'll manage."

"OK, Schwimmer, you can stop reciting your NYADA application now. I get the drift," Cassie says dryly. "Stop by around six thirty and I'll... attempt to rustle up some food, or something."

"I thought you didn't do stuff like that?" Rachel can't help but tease, because she's feeling a little emboldened by Cassie's offer.

"We're not talking a candlelit meal for two, Schwimmer. But I think I can stretch to a tofu stir-fry."

Cassie always has to scrape the icing off her cake, but Rachel smiles in spite of herself. Right now, she'll take what she can get.

"That sounds great," she proclaims, hoping she doesn't seem too enthusiastic.

"OK, then. I'll catch you later. I'm heading out to flash some leg and bat my eyelashes at a few people in the hopes of palming off these flyers and booking a decent dance studio."

"Good luck," Rachel tells her earnestly, and she can sense Cassie smiling on the other end of the receiver.

"Thanks. Oh, and Schwimmer?" Cassie says, and her voice is low and warm, "Keep your chin up, OK? They'll find something else to gossip about soon."

"I hope so," Rachel tells her tremulously. "See you tonight."

When she hangs up the phone, she's grinning from ear to ear, and her faith is restored... albeit momentarily.

* * *

Her happiness doesn't last for long, though. At lunch time, she's summoned to Carmen Tibideaux's office, and she waits in the foyer, wringing her hands. She knows she owes this woman everything - that her life would have taken a completely different turn if Carmen hadn't given her a second chance - but right now, she's so mad at her for firing Cassie, she doesn't know how she's going to be civil. When Carmen's PA shows her into the sprawling office, Rachel tries to tone down her glare, aiming for a look of mild disdain instead.

"Miss Berry," Carmen says, gesturing to the chair across from her, "Take a seat."

Rachel lowers herself primly into the ornate oak chair, folding her hands in her lap. The silence stretches on for what seems like an eternity, and she gets the impression that Carmen's trying to intimidate her.

"I know how hard you worked to earn your place at NYADA, and there's no denying that you're one of the most talented students here," Carmen informs her, with a tight-lipped smile.

"Thank you," Rachel says stiffly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"But I would hate to see you jeopardise what looks to be a very promising career by getting involved with someone who doesn't have your best interests at heart," Carmen pointedly concludes.

Rachel meets her penetrating gaze without flinching. "With all due respect, Miss Tibideaux, that's not going to happen. I don't allow my relationships to effect my work ethic."

"Be that as it may, being surrounded by negativity isn't good for the soul," Carmen observes, and Rachel can't take the faintly-veiled aspersions anymore.

"And firing the best dance teacher this school's ever had isn't good for your students, either," she snaps, and Carmen raises her eyebrows.

"That would be the same dance teacher you claimed was 'making your life a living hell' after she threw you out of class?" Carmen reminds her, and Rachel ducks her head.

"I'm not going to deny that Miss July has been known to... tow the line on occasion, but I've been taking dance lessons since I was old enough to walk – I thought my technique was beyond reproach – and she made me realise that I still have so much to learn, that there's still room for improvement." Rachel takes a moment to swallow around the lump in her throat. "So yes, at times she pushed me to my limits, but she's made me better than I've ever been before, and I don't... I don't see how that's a bad thing."

"It's not," Carmen assures her, but then she leans forward, folding her arms across the desk, "Providing you're not being taken advantage of."

"Miss Tibideaux, I appreciate your concern, I really do, but Cassandra doesn't work here anymore and what I choose to do on my own time is... is frankly none of your business," Rachel informs her, doing her best to stand her ground in the face of Carmen's unrelenting scrutiny.

"Then it appears that I may have underestimated your intelligence, Miss Berry," Carmen concludes, heaving a resigned sigh, "Because I thought you were a hell of a lot smarter than that."

The words sting, but Rachel just offers Carmen a brusque nod.

"May I be excused?" she asks, and Carmen waves her hand dismissively.

"Go. Just know that I'm going to be watching you very closely from now on, and you'd better pray that your standards don't start to slip."

"They won't," Rachel informs her resolutely, but her knees are shaking when she clambers to her feet.

* * *

When Cassie opens the door later on that evening, Rachel's mouth goes dry. Her heart's already drumming against her chest and her stomach's tied in knots, but the sight of Cassie looking so casually elegant, clad in a pair of skin-tight navy jeans and a powder blue shirt, leaves her rooted to the spot. Cassie's make-up is subtle, but her pale grey eye-shadow is really making her eyes pop, and Rachel just stares at her, completely transfixed.

"Hi," she says shyly, once she's capable of forming words, and when Cassie smiles back at her, it's an effort not to swoon.

"Hi yourself." Cassie reaches out, affectionately tugging on her beret, and Rachel's grin gets even wider.

"I bought dessert from that little vegan place around the corner," she informs Cassie, handing her a cake box, and Cassie seems to hesitate a little before taking it from her.

"And here I was, hoping for a bottle of wine," she says, blithely, and Rachel crosses her arms.

"Which I'm not yet old enough to purchase," she reminds her, and Cassie rolls her eyes.

"I already feel like a cradle-snatcher, Schwimmer. Don't make it worse."

"Well, I'm hardly what you would consider jail-bait," Rachel reassures her, and Cassie laughs.

"Not unless I finally give in to the urge to throttle you."

"Hey!" Rachel protests, but Cassie's smiling at her again, so she can't pretend to be offended for long. "How old are you, anyway?" she ventures curiously, and Cassie's eyebrows shoot up.

"Old enough to know better," she fires back, and Rachel sighs, because she's clearly not going to get a straight answer. She vows to dig up a list of NYADA's alumni and find out when Cassie graduated – or better yet, try to get her hands on an old yearbook. Not that it really matters, because the age difference is the least of her concerns.

"But it's not like..." she hesitates, wondering if she should seize the opportunity or steer clear of any potential conflict.

"It's not like what?" Cassie prompts impatiently, and Rachel regards her intently.

"It's not like I'm the only student you've ever slept with, right?" she blurts out. The words hang in the air for a moment, and she wishes she could take them back, because the relaxed camaraderie between them instantly vanishes. Cassie looks nonplussed, but then her expression hardens.

"Well, you already know about Brody," she informs Rachel matter-of-factly, "And then there was Dmitri, the Russian exchange student who was just too good an opportunity to pass up, and Shaun... and Francesca. Tommy Raven was pretty forgettable, but Alexandra Blasucci - well, she was something else," Cassie concludes with a rakish grin, "Oh, and then there was the threesome with Sara and her boyfriend, and that one time I made Benji completely forget that he was gay..."

Rachel's expression of unmitigated horror slowly gives way to suspicion. "You're joking," she realises, with an acute sense of relief, and Cassie lays a hand on her lower back, ushering her towards the kitchen.

"Yes, Schwimmer, I'm joking. It's not something I generally make a habit of, in spite of what you may have heard."

"I didn't really believe it," Rachel hastens to reassure her, and she's not sure if she's lying to herself, or to Cassandra, "It's just... Simon said he was talking to an upperclassman, who apparently told him that you'd slept with half of his year group - "

"Let me guess. Neil Ward? That slimy little shithead's had it out for me since I refused to give him a free ride in my class," Cassie spits out, and her face curdles with contempt. "He had to re-take the whole semester, and the second time around he tried to proposition me – God only knows why, but I assume it was a misguided attempt to curry some favour. I told him I'd rather go home and play with my toys, because they'd give me a better ride than he ever could, and let's just say he's the type to bear a grudge."

For a moment, Rachel's brain is incapable of processing anything except the image of Cassandra and... toys... but then she forces herself to focus. "Cassie, I'm so sorry," she says, and her cheeks are burning with shame, "I didn't mean to imply - "

"That I'm slutty and amoral?" Cassie chips in, and Rachel regards her with doleful eyes.

"I'm just glad I'm not having to compete for your affections, that's all," she says, lightly.

"Jesus Christ, Schwimmer, would you like to piss on my leg and mark your territory?" Cassie retorts, and Rachel flinches a little, steeling herself for another reality check. She's waiting for Cassie to tell her that she doesn't have a monopoly on her time, or a claim to her heart, but Cassie just rolls her eyes, heading over to the stove.

"Dinner smells good," Rachel observes, in an obvious attempt to change the subject and make amends, "Can I do anything to help?"

"No, I've got it covered," Cassie assures her, deftly tossing the contents of the wok with a single flick of her wrist. A couple of minutes later, she sets a plate of steaming hot stir-fry onto the breakfast bar and passes Rachel a knife and fork. She doesn't even bother using place mats, and it's about as romantic as a TV dinner. Still, it doesn't negate the fact that Cassie actually went to the trouble of cooking for her, and Rachel eyes her food appreciatively.

"This is amazing," she enthuses, as soon as she's finished chewing her first mouthful, and Cassie snorts incredulously.

"It's not exactly haute cuisine, Schwimmer," she says, wryly, "And you don't have to sound so surprised. I told you, I'm perfectly capable of fending for myself."

"Well, Kurt and I have been living off pizza and pasta, so this makes a nice change. Thank you." Rachel reaches for Cassie's hand, but then thinks better of it, remembering how Cassie reacted the last time she tried to initiate contact. There's a moment of awkwardness as she tries to disguise her intentions, but when she finally summons the courage to meet Cassie's gaze, she sees amusement, not discomfort.

"Carmen Tibideaux called me into her office today," she blurts out, mostly just to make conversation, and Cassie sets down her fork, regarding her curiously.

"She must have heard it through the grapevine, then," Cassie surmises, and her expression is a little resentful, "I bet she just _loves_ the idea of her great white hope being led astray by her biggest disappointment."

"Well, she did feel the need to warn me about the pitfalls of dating you," Rachel concedes, trying to keep her tone light, "And she made it clear that if it affects my performance, there will be consequences."

"Well, that's just... charming," Cassie says sarcastically, but for the barest fraction of a second, there's a wounded look in her eyes, "What did you say to her?"

"I kind of... yelled at her a bit for firing you, and then I told her she doesn't have the right to lecture me about who I see outside of school."

Cassie's lips twitch a little, and for a moment, Rachel just basks in the look of unbridled affection on her face.

"I would've loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation," Cassie admits, but then her expression shifts again. "You should have just told her what she wanted to hear. That it's over."

"But it's not, right?" Rachel asks, and it comes out sounding so much more desperate than she intended. "Over, I mean."

"Well, you're here, aren't you?" Cassie retorts, but her tone isn't reassuring, it's sharp and abrasive.

Rachel lapses into silence for a moment, picking at her food. When she meets Cassie's eyes, she can see that they're tinged with regret, but Cassie doesn't do apologies, and Rachel knows this is the best she can hope for.

"So, how did it go today?" she eventually asks, and Cassie offers her a small smile.

"A couple of people expressed an interest, but my phone hasn't exactly been ringing off the hook. It's pointless renting out a studio until I know people are actually going to turn up, so I'll just play it by ear for now." Cassie hesitates, picking up her napkin and twisting it in her hands. "I... uh... I managed to line up an interview for next week, though. At The Holden Academy. They're looking for someone to head up their Dance and Drama Department. The kids are younger – which doesn't exactly fill me with joy - but they're supposed to be pretty good, so..."

"That's great!" Rachel resists the urge to jump up and fling her arms around Cassie's neck, and settles for levelling her with a cheek-splitting smile instead. "They'll snap you up in a heartbeat, I just know it."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Schwimmer. I'm not... I'm not exactly renowned for being calm under pressure, and it's been a while since I had to put on my game face. I kind of..." she hesitates, casting a fleeting glance in Rachel's direction, "I kind of suck at interviews," she confesses, and Rachel's expression softens. She remembers Cassie's anecdote about her Bloody Mary-fuelled panic attack at 30,000 feet, and realises that maybe she isn't as self-assured as she seems.

"So we'll practice," she informs her resolutely, "I'll give you the third degree until you have an answer for everything."

Cassie laughs, but it isn't long before her smile starts to look a little strained.

"It's not going to make you happy, though, is it?" Rachel asks her softly, "Working there, I mean. You belong on the stage, not on the sidelines."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem with living in the real word, Schwimmer. You don't always get what you want," Cassie informs her acerbically, and her bitterness is back with a vengeance.

"Don't you think I know that?" Rachel fires back. "I didn't get into NYADA the first time I applied, you know?" she confesses quietly, and she can't help but feel vindicated by Cassie's surprised expression. "I went into the audition thinking I was invincible, and I choked. I sang the words in the wrong order, and then I forgot them completely."

"Anyone could crack under that kind of pressure," Cassie assures her, but Rachel shakes her head.

"Well, it was the first time it's ever happened to me. The funny thing is, I wasn't even nervous before I walked out on stage, but when I got up there and realised my entire future was hanging on that moment, I just... fell apart. The one time it really mattered, and I messed it up."

"Why do I get the feeling that this is about to turn into some kind of inspirational tale where you draw parallels between our life experiences?" Cassie asks wryly, "Because if you think fluffing an audition is comparable to watching your entire career go up in flames, then think again, kiddo."

"But that's what it felt like at the time," Rachel informs her defensively. "When Carmen Tibideaux walked away without having any idea of what I could do, I thought my life was over. I cried for a week, I didn't eat, or sleep; I was ready to resign myself to doing community theatre..."

Cassie bites her knuckles, but Rachel can see the empathy amidst her amusement.

"My point is, I know what it feels like to squander an opportunity; to think that you're never going to get another shot at your dreams - but if I'd given up back then, right now I'd be married to a boy who I used to think I was in love with, settling for so much... less... than what I wanted, and I'd be miserable."

"OK, wait a second. You were going to marry your childhood sweetheart?" Cassie asks her incredulously, "At the tender age of... eighteen? "

"At the time, I thought he was all I had left," Rachel admits, and it scares her now, to think how close she came to throwing her life away.

"Well, thank God you expanded your horizons, otherwise you'd probably be barefoot and pregnant by now," Cassie retorts, and Rachel narrows her eyes, kicking her under the table.

"Look, I'm glad things worked out for you, Schwimmer, I really am, but this isn't..." Cassie hesitates, and there's a faraway look in her eyes, "This isn't the same thing."

"Why not?" Rachel persists, "Why can't you just do what I did - harangue some casting directors until they agree to see you again, and then make sure they can't say 'no?'"

"Because I already told you, it doesn't work like that." Cassie snaps, and Rachel knows her well enough by now to recognise when she's overstepped the mark.

"OK, I'm sorry. I won't mention it again," she assures her, and then she stands up, retrieving the cake box from the counter. She cuts the pumpkin pie into medium-sized portions and then carries it over to the table, laying a plate in front of Cassie.

"Are you ready for some dessert?" she asks, gasping when she finds herself being pulled onto Cassie's lap. A pair of slender, but sturdy arms settle around her waist, and Rachel's eyelids flutter shut when Cassie's lips graze over the column of her neck.

"You could say that," Cassie says wryly, and there's a moment where they just gaze at each other, letting the anticipation build to breaking point. Then Cassie's hands cup her cheeks, and Rachel leans into the kiss, welcoming the hunger behind it.

* * *

"I like you so much better when you're not talking, Schwimmer," Cassie proclaims on the back of a sated sigh, pressing a kiss against Rachel's forehead before she rolls in the opposite direction. Rachel covers herself with the comforter and reaches for her clothes, turning away from Cassie so she won't see the tears that immediately spring to her eyes. She knows – or at least she hopes – Cassie's only joking, but a part of her is terrified that she isn't. Every time she thinks they're finally forging something meaningful, Cassie has to say something to ruin it all, and as incredible as the sex is, she's not sure how much longer she can pretend that she isn't yearning for something more. She knows that she's probably being too sensitive, that Cassie's said worse things to her in the past, but after everything that's transpired today, her defences have been whittled away to nothing, and it hurts more than it probably should.

"You don't have to go," Cassie hastens to reassure her, reaching for her hand, but Rachel can't speak, not when she's on the cusp of bursting into tears and making a complete fool out of herself, so she just shrugs a little.

"Hey..." Cassie finally seems to sense that there's something wrong, and she sits up, closing the distance between them. Rachel's only remaining defence is to duck her head and let her hair fall across her face, but Cassie tenderly brushes it aside.

"Rachel... look at me," Cassie coaxes softly, cupping her chin to initiate eye contact, and Rachel's tears finally spill over when she sees the mixture of concern and consternation on Cassie's face. "Oh, sweetie, you know I didn't mean that, right? I was just being an asshole, as per usual. I thought you'd be used to it by now," she teases, giving Rachel a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry." Rachel desperately tries to come up with an excuse for her reaction, because she doesn't want Cassie to think that she's fragile and immature, "Today just... really sucked, that's all."

"The last few hours notwithstanding, right?" Cassie clarifies with a smirk, and Rachel nods, managing a small smile.

She wants to say: please tell me you're not just using me, please tell me I'm not an idiot for falling in love with you, please tell me this isn't going to wind up hurting even more than saying goodbye to Finn at the train station, but she knows Cassie won't be able to handle her insecurities.

"I should go," she chokes out instead, but Cassie shakes her head.

"No. Come lie down with me," she urges, and Rachel hesitates for a second, before throwing her arms around Cassie's neck. She squeezes her eyes shut when Cassie envelops her in a warm embrace, and it feels like the first time all over again, when she was scared out of her mind after being attacked in that alleyway and Cassie made her feel safe and grounded and giddy all at the same time.

"Rachel, I..." Cassie hesitates, and Rachel holds her breath, because hearing Cassie speak her given name still does something primal to her, "Stay," she says quietly, and Rachel nods, nuzzling into her neck. It may not be exactly what she wants to hear, but at least she doesn't have to agonise over whether Cassie wants her around, and when she closes her eyes, she's smiling again.


	14. Chapter 14

_**OK, this isn't quite as long as I was anticipating, but I've slaved over it for days and it seemed like a fitting place to end the chapter, so I hope you all enjoy it! There's more to come soon. Needless to say, your reviews feed my muse, so please keep 'em coming ;).**_

* * *

"Schwimmer, it's one glass of wine. After the day I've had, you're lucky I'm not using it to chase a bottle of pills."

Cassie takes a defiant gulp of her Cabernet Sauvignon, closing her eyes as she savours the taste, and when she opens them again, Rachel's staring at her like she just took a nose-dive off the sobriety wagon. It irritates the crap out of her, because yes, while she has been known to use alcohol as a pick-me-up after a shitty day, it's not like she's reliant on it for survival. She's not walking around shaking from withdrawal symptoms and salivating for her next fix. She just likes to take the edge off every once in a while, and she isn't going to let Schwimmer's holier-than-thou attitude kill her buzz.

Rachel's stayed at her place for three nights out of the past five, and if Cassie's completely honest with herself, it's getting harder to watch her walk out of the door every morning, but if Schwimmer starts acting like her keeper, Cassie has no problem proving that she doesn't have an issue with dependency... in any aspect of her life.

She's waiting for Rachel to pluck the glass out of her hands and remind her what a train-wreck she was the last time she succumbed to temptation, and she's already poised to retaliate, but Schwimmer surprises her by picking up the bottle and pouring herself a sizeable glass of wine. Cassie's expression softens a little at the gesture of solidarity, and she sinks onto the couch, patting the space beside her.

"Was it really that bad?" Rachel enquires, turning sympathetic eyes in Cassie's direction, and Cassie can't help but feel a twinge of affection for her as she watches Schwimmer take a sip of the burgundy liquid and try not to cringe at the bitter after-taste.

"Put it this way; her parents could offer me a million bucks and I still wouldn't sign up to spend another afternoon with that self-absorbed, talentless little tramp," Cassie snipes, making no effort to mince her words.

"So... does that mean you're finally starting to realise that I'm not the worst dancer on the planet?" Rachel teases her, and Cassie offers her a rueful smile.

"Yes, Schwimmer, apparently there are people out there who make you look like Darcey Bussell," she concedes, resting her hand on Rachel's knee, but her expression darkens as she re-lives the dance lesson from hell. "I didn't even know people still _had_ débutante balls, and it's not like this girl was straight out of a Jane Austen novel. She's probably worked her way through the entire football team by now."

"Cassie!" Rachel protests, but her lips quirk at the corners, and it's obvious that she's trying not to laugh.

"Oh, believe me, that's giving her the benefit of the doubt," Cassie continues unrepentantly. "And tell me this, Schwimmer, how am I supposed to prepare someone to be introduced to 'Polite Society' when they're too busy texting their friends to pay attention?" she grouses, rolling her eyes. "It was like an episode of friggin' _Gossip Girl_ in there, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it, because she would've just thrown a temper tantrum and called Daddy Dearest to come rescue her."

Rachel bites her lip, and Cassie pretends to glower at her.

"It's not funny!" she protests, "You try teaching the waltz to a girl who's picked up all of her dance moves from MTV: After Hours. I mean, there's _My Fair Lady_, and then there's _Mission: __Impossible_."

Rachel finally bursts into laughter, nearly inhaling her wine in the process, and Cassie can't hold back a smile anymore. She's not used to having this kind of rapport with someone. Usually it's stilted pleasantries and awkward small talk after a torrid one-night-stand (which is one of the reasons why she never lets anyone stay over) but, as much as she tries to convince herself that it's the alcohol making her so damn chatty, Schwimmer seems to bring out parts of her personality that have been lying dormant for years.

Cassie clears her throat, perfecting a vapid look as she twirls her hair around her index finger and chews some imaginary gum. _"'I know you're, like, way older than I am," _she mimics, in her most obnoxious New-York-meets-valley-girl accent,_ "But you're pretty hot for your age, so I'm gonna show you some dresses and you have to tell me which ones you dig, right? Do you think I should go for this hideous pink one, or the slightly-less-revolting yellow one?'" _Cassie scrunches up her face in disgust._ "_She spent ten minutes forcing me to flick through pictures of dresses on her iPhone, Schwimmer. _Ten minutes. _I've never seen so much taffeta in my life._" _

"But you have to give her some credit," Rachel hedges, and her eyes are twinkling, "Because she's right about one thing. You are pretty hot... for your age."

Cassie grabs the nearest pillow, swatting Rachel over the head with it. "Then maybe I should find someone a little more mature to hang out with, huh?"

Rachel laughs, but it sounds strained this time, and Cassie's brow furrows as she watches her take a lengthy swig of wine. She thinks back to the other night, and how Rachel crumbled in the face of one careless remark. She's used to Schwimmer standing her ground and giving as good as she gets; weathering her insults like they're water off a duck's back, but since they started sleeping together, something's clearly changed. She wonders if Schwimmer has always been this insecure about her relationships, or if she's doing something to make her feel that way. It's a sobering thought, and Cassie scoots a little closer, giving Rachel a gentle nudge.

"I'm pretty sure you're the only thing keeping me sane right now," she says softly, and it's enough to put the spark back in Rachel's eyes, "Because, I swear, I was seconds away from strangling that kid."

"But you kept your cool and walked away with two hundred dollars," Rachel reminds her. She chugs down the remainder of her wine and then straddles Cassie's lap, drawing her into an amorous kiss. "I'm so proud of you."

It should sound condescending, so Cassie has no idea why a flicker of warmth kindles in the pit of her stomach. When Rachel's lips seek out hers for a second time, she can feel all of her frustration ebbing away, and playing tonsil hockey with Schwimmer is so much more cathartic than ranting and throwing things. It's just -

"What?" Rachel asks her curiously, pulling back a little, and she looks so damn cute when she's concerned.

"Nothing," Cassie assures her, wondering when Schwimmer developed the ability to decipher minuscule changes in her mood. Still, Rachel clearly doesn't plan on resuming their earlier activities until she provides her with an answer, so Cassie heaves a heavy sigh, dropping her head against Schwimmer's shoulder.

"I miss my studio," she confesses quietly, closing her eyes when Rachel's thumb starts running back and forth against her arm in a gentle caress. "I kept thinking about all the things I could be doing instead of wasting my time with that incompetent little ingrate, and I wanted to tell her to take a running jump so I could use the space myself. I would've rented it out for another couple of hours, but I can't afford it right now, and I didn't want to walk away feeling like I'd put myself through that torture for nothing, you know?"

Rachel nods her understanding, and for someone who talks so much, she's surprisingly good at listening, too.

"I have to prepare a mock lesson for my interview," Cassie informs her, picking at a piece of lint on the sofa, "And I... I can't just jot it down on a piece of paper, I need to _feel_ it, to _see_ it - "

Cassie trails off when she sees a flash of inspiration dawn on Rachel's face, and she raises an eyebrow when Schwimmer proceeds to clamber off her lap, grabbing her purse off the floor. She rifles around a bit, and then emerges with a familiar silver key, levelling Cassie with a megawatt smile.

"Brody cut a copy for me so I could practice whenever I wanted," she informs her, tossing it to Cassie with a reckless glint in her eye, "We can go now, if you want?"

Cassie's sorely tempted to give in, but then she considers the consequences.

"We can't," she says quietly, shaking her head. "If Carmen finds out, she'll probably have me arrested for trespassing, and you... you'll be on the next train back to Ohio."

"But I do it all the time," Rachel hastens to reassure her, "And no-one's ever tried to stop me before. Kurt used to come and help me practice every other day. Quinn and Santana – my friends from Glee club - stopped by one weekend and I smuggled them into the round room. Trust me, it'll be fine."

Cassie wavers, because Schwimmer has a point, and she knows the likelihood of them running into someone is remote.

"Cassie, it's Friday night," Rachel reminds her, and it's almost like she's reading her mind, "Everyone's going to be at Callbacks. And since when did you care about breaking the rules, anyway?"

_Since it might involve getting you into trouble,_ Cassie wants to tell her, but she swallows back her instinctive response.

"OK, just let me grab my work book and some music," she capitulates, even though she's pretty sure Schwimmer wouldn't be proposing this if she was stone-cold sober.

She emerges from the bedroom a few moments later, clad head to toe in black and clutching her gym bag. Rachel takes one look at her beanie and bursts out laughing.

"You look like you're about to rob a bank," she observes, and Cassie grins, pulling up her hood for good measure.

"Well, it was the next best thing to a balaclava," she says wryly, but then she catches hold of Rachel's hands, squeezing them warmly. "Thank you for doing this," she adds, drawing Schwimmer into a kiss that she hopes goes some way to conveying her gratitude, and Rachel looks a little starry-eyed when she pulls away.

* * *

Schwimmer might try to pass for a native New Yorker, but seeing her on the subway gives the game away. Their car is chock full of people poised to drink away the week's woes, and there's barely enough room to breathe, let alone move. Rachel flinches every time the driver brakes and someone comes crashing into her personal space, and she looks scandalised whenever someone rudely pushes past her to make their way towards the doors. She keeps casting wary glances at the carriage's more unsavoury occupants, and Cassie can see her shrinking away every time someone gets too close.

"You're acting like you've just seen _Contagion._ Come here," she says, motioning for Rachel to stand against the pole that she's currently holding onto. Cassie boxes her in, shielding Rachel's petite frame with her own, and she's not sure if the look on Schwimmer's face is borne of relief or desire. Either way, Rachel clearly doesn't have a problem with being pressed up against her, and they share a warm smile.

"It can get a little claustrophobic, huh?" Cassie asks her, and Rachel hesitates for a moment, before nodding.

"This is the busiest I've ever seen it."

"Well, welcome to Friday night in SoHo, Schwim."

Rachel's attention seems to be diverted elsewhere, though, and Cassie follows the direction of her reproachful gaze.

"That guy got on at the last stop and he hasn't stopped staring at you since," Rachel informs her, and sure enough, when Cassie turns around, there's a good-looking guy in his late twenties checking her out, beanie and all. He smiles at her, giving her a little wave, and Cassie grins at him before she turns her attention back to Schwimmer, who's in the midst of shooting him a dirty look.

"Come on, you can't begrudge the guy for having good taste," Cassie protests, and Rachel rolls her eyes, pouting a little.

"_Ever since puberty, everybody stares at me... boys; girls, I can't help it, baby..."_ Cassie sings into Rachel's ear, and Schwimmer's sullen expression gives way to a reluctant grin.

When the train grinds to a standstill at their station, Cassie ushers Rachel forwards before the doors can shut again, resting her hands on Schwimmer's hips as they edge their way towards freedom. The amount of "excuse me"s and "thank you"s coming out of Rachel's mouth is downright hilarious, so Cassie can't resist barking out her customary "_move_" when an overweight guy blocks their exit. He glares at Cassie with a ferocity that would make a lesser person flinch, but Cassie just glares right back at him until he gives up the fight and inches away from them.

They stumble out of the car, straight into the Brad Pitt wannabe, who tries not to look like he was waiting on the platform for them.

"Oh, great," Rachel mutters, and Cassie struggles to contain her amusement.

"I promise I'm not stalking you, but I would've been kicking myself all night if I didn't at least say 'hello,'" he announces, holding out his hand. "I'm Mark," he informs her, and Cassie gamely shakes his hand.

"Cassandra," she drawls, with the barest hint of a flirtatious lilt to her tone, because seeing Schwimmer this jealous might be the highlight of her week.

"So, where are you lovely ladies headed?"

Rachel opens her mouth to respond, but Cassie beats her to it.

"We're off to get a little hot and sweaty on the dance floor," she counters, trying not to laugh when he practically starts drooling.

"Oh, yeah? You want some company?" he asks her, and Cassie glances at Schwimmer, feeling her heart constrict when she sees Rachel staring dejectedly at her shoes.

"No, we're good, thanks," Cassie informs him, a little more brusquely than she intended, because this isn't funny anymore. She was expecting Schwimmer to stake her claim, but it looks like she's given up the fight already; like she actually thinks Cassie's going to abandon her in favour of some horny stranger.

"Then how about you call me sometime?" Mark persists, retrieving a business card from his pocket and handing it to her.

"Sorry, Mark, but I've had a better offer," Cassie counters, immediately passing it back. She reaches for Rachel's hand, threading their fingers together, and Rachel's head snaps up. She looks confused for a moment, like she's waiting for the punchline, so Cassie gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, smiling at her softly.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry." Mark's eyes widen to almost comical proportions. "I didn't realise you were taken."

Cassie baulks a little at that, and so does Schwimmer. She looks like she's waiting for Cassie to correct his assumption, but Cassie fights back the compulsion, still holding fast to Rachel's hand.

"Don't worry about it," she says, patting him consolingly on the shoulder. "Have a nice evening."

"Yeah, you, too," he manages to choke out, looking like someone just kicked him in the balls with a steel-toe boot.

"Come on, let's go."

Cassie pushes Rachel towards the escalators, and pretends not to notice the way Schwimmer's staring at her with a stupid smile on her face.

* * *

"Well, it looks like we're home free," Cassie observes, casting a reverent glance around her old studio as Schwimmer locks the door behind them and flicks on the lights. She pulls off her hat, shaking her hair out, and she can't contain the thrill of happiness that races through her as she surveys the empty room. She feels like a kid who turned up to the park expecting to fight over the swings, only to realise that she has the whole playground at her disposal.

"_The hills are alive, with the sound of music..." _she sings facetiously, doing a pretty good impersonation of Julie Andrews as she twirls around the studio, divesting herself of her fleece and stripping down to her tights and leotard.

Schwimmer giggles, watching her with bright eyes and an indulgent smile, and then she gestures to the piano.

"I'm going to sit over there and work on my Ibsen essay. Just pretend I'm not here, OK?"

"Easier said than done, Schwimmer," Cassie informs her with a crooked smile, and Rachel's eyes follow her every move as she uses the barre to limber up.

"Are you sure you're gonna be able to concentrate?" Cassie teases, and Rachel clears her throat, hastily averting her lustful gaze, "With the music playing in the background, I mean?" she clarifies, levelling Schwimmer with a mischievous wink. "Actually, don't bother answering that. Your life probably has its own soundtrack, right?"

"Well, I did attempt to compose some original songs during my time in Glee club, but most of them weren't very well-received."

Cassie quirks an amused eyebrow. "Dare I ask?"

"_Oh, damn you, Dads, why did you settle for only me? I'm an only child, more than enough for them, but not enough for me..."_ Rachel sings earnestly, and Cassie sniggers, prompting Rachel to give an embarrassed laugh.

"Suffice it to say, I'm definitely more of a singer than a songwriter."

"Yeah, well, that goes for both of us," Cassie admits, smiling to herself as she recalls briefly entertaining the notion of writing a rock musical about her fall from grace.

She finishes off her stretches, and then picks up her workbook, flicking through it until she finds her latest set of scribblings. It doesn't take long before she's lost in her own little world, trying to master the intricacies of a routine that she's spent more time planning than performing, and when she checks her form in the mirror, she can see Rachel gazing at her admiringly from across the room.

She hits play on the stereo, attempting her first run-through with music, but she stops and starts until every movement is ingrained in her subconscious, until every twist and turn of her body is perfectly in time with the beat. Finally, it all clicks into place, and as she sashays and spins and high-kicks her way around the studio, she forgets everything except how much she loves to dance. She lets her eyelids flutter closed as the synthesised waves of iiO's _Rapture_ wash over her, and the music flows through her veins like its her lifeblood. She fell in love with this song the first time she heard it, when she was on holiday in Mexico, and it reminds her of beach parties and pina coladas and getting her groove on with the locals. It reminds her of a time when her life wasn't remotely complicated, and she sings along with the kind of happy-go-lucky freedom she felt back then.

"God, you're good."

The words echo around the studio, cutting through Cassie's reverie, and she opens her eyes, finding Rachel staring at her with an expression that's almost predatory in its intensity. It reminds her of that night at the strip club, when Schwimmer was mesmerised by her performance, only this time, she isn't making any effort to hide her arousal.

"Why, thank you, Schwimmer," Cassie responds with a cocky grin, glancing in amusement at Rachel's notebook, which is still completely blank. "How's the essay coming along?"

"I got a little... distracted..." Rachel confesses, moistening her lips, and Cassie holds out her hand, beckoning her over.

"Come dance with me," she invites, and Rachel's eyes widen.

"Are you sure? I don't want to kill your muse."

Cassie laughs, walking over to the stereo to change the track. When the opening riffs of Paula Cole's 'Feelin' Love' echo around the studio, she sidles over to Schwimmer, crouching down in front of her and laying a hand on her thigh.

"Now, the first thing you need to know about the tango, Schwimmer, is that it's all about sex," she says huskily, seeing the flash of recognition in Rachel's eyes. "So, what do you say? Do you think you're up to the challenge this time around?"

Cassie's a little taken aback when Schwimmer pushes back the piano stool and grabs her hand, stalking towards the centre of the room like a woman on a mission. She's even more surprised when Rachel twirls her around, cupping the back of her head and kissing her with aggressive abandon. The heat behind it ignites something carnal inside Cassie, but she barely has time to respond before Schwimmer abruptly pulls away again.

"I think I can hold my own," Rachel retorts, with a combative twinkle in her eye, and Cassie has to gird her loins when she sees the look of steely determination on Schwimmer's face. She didn't realise how much she'd missed this until now, but Rachel's feisty streak has always sent her libido into overdrive.

"I don't know, Schwimmer," Cassie teases, trailing her fingertips over Rachel's hip, "Your new teacher's been out of the loop for the past twenty years and I think you might be a little out of practice," she cajoles, trying not to moan when Rachel responds by pulling her into hold, so there's barely a hair's breadth between them.

"We start with abrazo, right? The embrace?" Rachel asks, and her lips are millimetres away from Cassie's ear. Cassie's insides throb with the effects of her proximity, but she forces herself to focus.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," Cassie reprimands, resting her hand against the small of Rachel's back, "And don't even think about trying to take the lead," she adds warningly.

They launch into the routine, and Cassie tries her damnedest not to let her hands wander. She watches Rachel like a hawk, waiting for her to make even the slightest slip-up, but Rachel holds her gaze without wavering, and dances the steps flawlessly.

Cassie has no choice but to start playing dirty. She starts singing along with the raunchy track, and her voice blends seamlessly with every breathy note and raspy moan.

"_You make me feel like the Amazon's running between my thighs,"_ she sings suggestively into Rachel's ear, dragging her lips along the column of Rachel's neck as she eases her out of a split-legged dip. She bites back a triumphant smile when her efforts are met with a tortured moan.

"You know, I think you have an unfair advantage here," Rachel observes, sucking in a sharp breath when Cassie deftly flicks a leg between her thighs, "Seems as though you made me sit in the corner while everyone else was learning this routine."

"Well, that's what you get for being a bad girl and talking back in class, Schwimmer," Cassie retorts, and Rachel regards her with a look that seems to say _'and what are you going to do about it now?'_ Cassie can't continue the charade any longer, and when Rachel hooks a leg around her waist, pressing closer than strictly necessary, Cassie rakes her fingers over her thigh, hiking up her skirt.

"Oh, God, this song..." Schwimmer trails off, throwing her head back when Cassie's hand seeks sanctuary in the apex between her legs, and she doesn't even cast a throwaway glance at the door as she moans her approval. Cassie can't help but feel proud that she's finally succeeded in teaching Schwimmer how to lose herself in a moment... or maybe she should just ply her with alcohol more often.

Schwimmer's eyes are ravenous with want as she pulls Cassie into another kiss, and it's desperate and demanding and heart-stoppingly hot. Cassie tries to take control, but Rachel won't let her, and she can't help but laugh when Schwimmer nips lightly at her bottom lip.

"Did you just bite me?" Cassie demands incredulously, but she can't bring herself to pull away for long enough to hear the answer. Rachel caresses the back of her neck in what Cassie assumes is meant to be an apology, but then their tongues entangle again and Schwimmer's hands slip underneath her leotard, finding purchase on her ass. She tugs determinedly on Cassie's tights, and Cassie realises that she's probably going to rip them apart if she doesn't take them off voluntarily, so she quickly shrugs her way out of her leotard and strips down to her underwear. She feels the chill of the night air for all of two seconds, but then Rachel's grinding up against her and whimpering into her mouth, and it's pure heat.

"Could you..." Rachel trails off, gesturing to the floor, and Cassie raises an eyebrow.

"I think you're forgetting that I'm the one who calls the shots in here, Schwimmer."

"But I'm the one who has the key," Rachel reminds her with a smug smile, and Cassie grits her teeth.

"Fine, where do you want me?" she drawls, and Rachel drops to her knees, beckoning for her to follow suit.

"All those times I helped you cool down, do you have any idea how much I wanted to..." she trails off, reaching for Cassie's leg, and Cassie sucks in a sharp breath when she anchors it against her shoulder, gently stretching it out. Schwimmer runs her fingers over her calf, and then her shin, dragging out the suspense for as long as possible. Then she drops a kiss against the spot behind Cassie's knee – which Cassie had no idea was so sensitive - and Cassie lets out a strangled gasp when she inches higher, and higher, until she...

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Cassie curses, and her toes curl against Rachel's shoulder when Schwimmer pulls aside her underwear and strokes into her with fingers that are far too proficient for Cassie's own good. Cassie's almost embarrassingly wet now, and Rachel's spent the past week learning exactly how to press her buttons, and she uses her knowledge to devastating effect. Cassie's eyes roll back when Schwimmer eases two fingers inside of her, and with her legs parted like this, Rachel's thrusts seem to hit even deeper than usual.

Black spots start to dance behind Cassie's eyelids as the delectable tension mounts to breaking point, and her leg starts to tremble uncontrollably. Rachel finally releases it, using her free hand to fondle Cassie's breasts instead, and the sensation of Schwimmer thumbing her nipples in time with the frantic motion of her hand sends her spiralling over the edge.

"Rachel, oh, God..." she gasps, clinging to Schwimmer's arm convulsively, but Rachel isn't done with her yet.

Cassie's eyes fly open when Schwimmer tugs down her underwear completely, kissing a molten pathway over her inner thighs. Cassie turns her attention to the mirrors, and watching Schwimmer lying between her legs, enthusiastically eating her out, is the single most erotic experience of her life. She comes so hard, it's like being steamrollered, and she slumps against the floor, gasping for breath.

Rachel crawls on top of her, and this time her kiss is slow and deliberate. Cassie tangles her hands in silky hair, and hums her approval as she tastes herself amidst the remnants of Schwimmer's strawberry lip gloss. It takes her a moment to recuperate, but then she's hauling Rachel to her feet, turning her to face the wall-to-wall mirrors. She embraces her from behind, and God, they look so hot together, dishevelled and panting with need. The only thing ruining the tableau is the fact that Schwimmer's still fully-clothed.

"Tell me, Schwimmer," Cassie murmurs, tonguing Rachel's ear and sucking lightly on the curve of her neck as she lifts off her sweater and unfastens her bra, "What do you fantasise about when you touch yourself at night?"

"This," Rachel gasps, closing her eyes when Cassie pulls down her skirt and inches her tights over her hips. "This is everything I've ever dreamed of."

"Then watch me touch you," Cassie encourages her, palming Rachel's breasts and toying tantalisingly with her nipples. "I want you to open your eyes and see how fucking sexy you look right now."

She drags her lips over Rachel's shoulder and then kisses an open-mouthed pathway down her spine, peeling off her underwear painstakingly slowly.

"You know, I've seen a lot of legs in my time, Schwimmer, but yours..." Cassie trails off, reverently smoothing her fingers over Rachel's shapely legs, "Yours are something else."

She ventures a little higher, kneading Rachel's ridiculously pert ass with well-practiced hands, and watches in amusement as Schwimmer's thighs start to tremble with anticipation. Then she stands up again, turning her attention to Rachel's stomach, and Schwimmer slumps against her as she traces unseen patterns over her abdomen, gradually moving lower.

"Cassie, please..." Schwimmer whimpers, parting her legs in an unspoken invitation, and Cassie doesn't need any further encouragement. Her thighs clench reflexively when she realises just how wet Schwimmer is, and the quiet moans of gratification coming out of Rachel's mouth are making it hard to concentrate.

"Open your eyes," she murmurs again, and Rachel finally complies, gasping a little when she sees her unchecked desire reflected back at her. Cassie moves inside of her, and the look of hedonistic wonderment on Schwimmer's face as she watches herself being ravished is almost enough to make Cassie's knees buckle. Then Rachel's eyes bore into hers through the glass, dark and desperate in their intensity, and Cassie fucks her with a single-minded, all-consuming passion that she's never directed at anyone before. Rachel arches into her, clutching her arm, and Cassie peppers her neck with open-mouthed kisses until Rachel's chanting – and then sobbing – her name. Schwimmer squeezes her eyes shut when she comes, collapsing against Cassie like a rag doll, and they sink to the floor in a satisfied heap. The air's thick with the smell of sex, and Cassie clasps her hands around Schwimmer's waist to hide the fact that they're shaking.

"That was... you're..." Rachel shifts in Cassie's lap, turning to face her, and Cassie can't help but smile at the shell-shocked expression on her face.

"Well, I'm glad to see that you're enjoying your sexual awakening, Schwimmer," she says wryly, brushing her lips softly against Rachel's mouth, but Rachel prolongs the contact, drawing her into the kind of kiss that Cassie used to shy away from, the kind of kiss that says so much more than she's prepared to voice aloud.

"Just give me ten more minutes to finish up in here and then we can go home," Cassie says, and her voice sounds hoarse, even to her own ears. "Back to my place, I mean," she hastens to clarify, and she reluctantly pulls away, stroking Rachel's cheek before she clambers to her feet. She retrieves her leotard from across the room, and then picks up Schwimmer's underwear, throwing the soaked panties to her with an impish grin. Rachel catches them, blushing a little, and then begins a scavenger hunt for her own discarded clothes.

"Here, put this on," Cassie calls, throwing her fleece to Schwimmer when she notices her rubbing her arms to ward off the cold, and Rachel gives her a grateful smile, sinking onto the piano stool.

Cassie scribbles down a few more notes, chewing the end of her pen, but she stops in her tracks when she hears Rachel tinkering experimentally with the piano. She recognises the tune instantly and, sure enough, it isn't long before Schwimmer starts singing along.

"_I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more. I could have spread my wings, and done a thousand things, I've never done before..." _Schwimmer warbles, and Cassie can't help but smirk when she realises that Rachel's smiling happily to herself.

"What kind of things are we talking about, Schwimmer?" Cassie teases, crossing the room to hover over her shoulder, "Getting down and dirty in the dance studio? Or did you have something else in mind?"

Rachel blushes, jumping a little at her proximity, and Cassie reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"You play?" she asks curiously, and Rachel shakes her head.

"I took a few lessons when I was younger, but I never really got the hang of it," she confesses, with a sheepish smile. "I only know the melody, not the chords."

"Scoot over." Cassie gestures for Rachel to make room for her on the stool, and then sits down, trying not to react to the sensation of their thighs and shoulders pressing tightly together. She flexes her hands, letting her fingers rest against the ivory keys, and then she starts playing the full piano accompaniment from memory.

Rachel stares at her in awe for a moment, and then she huffs a little bit, presumably because Cassie just won their latest game of one-upmanship.

"What can I say, Schwimmer? I'm a woman of many talents," Cassie informs her, with a smug smile and a playful wink. _"I'll never know... what made it so... exciting,"_ she sings softly, and Rachel immediately picks up her cue, laughing delightedly.

"_Why all at once, my heart took flight,"_ they trill in perfect unison, and Rachel maps the movement of Cassie's hands before hesitantly taking over the melody again, desperately trying to keep up with Cassie's fingers as they fly across the keys. She bursts out laughing when Cassie jostles her none-too-gently with her elbow, and Cassie squawks in indignation when Rachel bumps her shoulder in retaliation.

"_I only know... when she... began to dance... with me," _they sing, sharing an amused smile when they both opt to change the pronoun, _"I could have danced, danced, danced..."_ Cassie doesn't even bother trying to hit that ridiculous note, but Rachel does, and she nails it.

"_All... night..."_ she belts out in a crystal clear soprano, and Cassie settles for harmonising with her, inwardly acknowledging that Rachel's voice is a formidable instrument in and of itself. By the time they're done with the next verse, they're both laughing uproariously, and Rachel rests her head against Cassie's shoulder.

"We sound pretty good together, right?" she observes, and Cassie smiles into her hair.

"Yeah, we do."


	15. Chapter 15

"What the hell?" Cassie glares at her cell phone as its shrill ring echoes around her loft, wondering who the hell would be crazy enough to call her at 8am on a Monday morning. Usually, she'd be wide awake and finishing off a gruelling workout, but there's not much of an incentive to get out of bed when she has nothing to occupy her days with, short of staring at the walls and going stir crazy. The smattering of dance classes she's been teaching aren't enough to sustain her, and if she doesn't land the gig at The Holden Academy, then she's going to have to suck it up and start applying for jobs that she used to consider beneath her. Beggars can't be choosers, and all that.

Thanks to a certain ex-student of hers, she hasn't been getting a whole lot of sleep lately. Schwimmer only left an hour ago, and she has no idea how Rachel manages to make it through a full day of lessons without downing a cocktail of ProPlus and Red Bull. In all honesty, she could use a night off to recuperate, but she's not about to admit that Schwimmer's pushing her stamina to its limits. It makes her wonder how tragically unfulfilling Rachel's sex life used to be, because she's acting like she's making up for lost time and then some.

The ringing continues unabated, and she's tempted to ignore whoever it is, but then it occurs to her that someone might be making enquiries about private tuition, so she forces herself into an upright position, snatching her phone off the bedside table.

"Hello?" she croaks, stifling a yawn.

"Hi there!" The voice on the other end of the line sounds far too chipper for Cassie's liking. "I'm looking to speak with Cassandra July?"

"That would be me," Cassie confirms, and if this is a sales call, she's going to scream.

"Miss July, my name's Madison Beckett and I'm calling from The Holden Academy. I believe you have an interview scheduled with us tomorrow afternoon?"

"That's right," Cassie informs her, sitting up a little straighter. Schwimmer's spent most of the weekend prepping her, to the point where she's poised to convince the School Board that she's Mary Fucking Poppins.

"Well, I'm just ringing to notify you that, unfortunately, owing to the number of candidates who applied for the position, we've had to whittle down our short-list." There's a pregnant pause, and Cassie's heart sinks as she steels herself for the inevitable. "And I'm sorry to say that you're no longer on it."

"OK, let me get this straight. You've had to... shorten your short-list?" Cassie asks her incredulously. She takes a deep breath, trying to rein in her anger. "Are you going to tell me why I didn't make the cut, or is that above your pay grade?"

There's silence on the other end of the line, and when she speaks again, Little Miss Secretary of the Year doesn't sound quite so peppy.

"Miss July, I realise this must come as a disappointment - "

"Oh, you have no idea," Cassie informs her acerbically, and then she reminds herself to be professional and – God Forbid – polite. "Look, I know that you're just doing your job and I don't want to shoot the messenger, so how about you just put me on the phone with whoever made the decision, OK?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

Sometimes, Cassie's convinced that people are conspiring to wind her up the wrong way.

"Well, if you prefer, I could always come down there and cause a scene? I'm sure you've already seen how charming I can be when I'm angry," she says, with a tight-lipped smile, because it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out what's caused the sudden change of heart.

"No, that, um... that won't be necessary," Madison stutters. "I... I'll just get him for you."

"Thank you so much," Cassie says, in a tone that's sugar-coated venom.

A couple of minutes later, she can hear some interference on the line, and then a gruff voice booms down the receiver.

"This is Jeff Saunders. I'm the Dean in charge of Recruitment. Is there a problem?"

"Apparently so," Cassie counters drolly. "I applied to be the Head of your Dance & Drama Department and your lovely secretary just informed me that I'm no longer considered to be on par with the other candidates. Now, I'm pretty sure you haven't got many ex-Broadway stars who've spent five years teaching at the best performing arts college in the country on your 'short-list,' so I'm just curious what motivated that decision?"

"Miss July, we're a reputable establishment that prides itself on giving the best possible education to impressionable young adults," he informs her, sounding like a walking brochure, "We carry out rigorous background checks..."

"So what you're trying to tell me is that you saw a video of me making a fool out of myself ten years ago?" Cassie surmises. "A lot can happen in ten years, Jeff, as I'm sure you're aware, and I pride myself on making damn sure my kids don't go down the same route I did."

"Well, that's very admirable, but - "

"And I take it you've seen the list of alumni that I've taught?" Cassie interjects, before he has chance to elaborate. "I'm sure they'd be happy to attest to my methods, although I'd like to think my credentials speak for themselves."

"Miss July, there's no denying that your application was very impressive, and your former employers speak very highly of you... although I have to say, they were a little vague about the reasons behind your departure," he adds, and Cassie ducks her head. "Now, I'm sure there are any number of schools that would be delighted to have you on board, but we're... we're just not one of them. I'm sorry."

"Well, then, screw you and the horse you rode in on, Jeff_,_" Cassie snaps at him. She slams her cell phone shut, and then hurls it across the room, letting out a scream of utter frustration.

* * *

Rachel checks her phone for what feels like the hundredth time today, but Cassandra still hasn't replied to her text messages. Cassie might be a little restrained when it comes to expressing her affection, but she's never resorted to outright ignoring her before. Rachel re-reads the last message she sent – _Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to concentrate in dance class today? Mrs __Dumont made us do mirror work and, suffice it to say, I was feeling quite flustered _ - and she can't fathom why Cassie would have found it objectionable. She tries calling Cassie's cell, but it just goes straight through to voicemail. Rachel knows there's always the possibility that she might have booked a last minute dance lesson, but Cassie didn't mention anything this morning, and she can't shake off the nagging feeling that something's wrong. She's tempted to cut her afternoon classes and head straight over to Cassie's loft, but Carmen Tibideaux's warning is still ringing in her ears, so she forces herself to sit through two hours of Drama in Production, surreptitiously checking her phone every chance she gets.

She usually heads back to her own place to shower, change and re-apply her make-up before she ventures over to Cassie's, but tonight she just settles for touching up her foundation and dabbing on some lip gloss on the subway. She has to pound on Cassie's door for a whole minute before she finally gets an answer, and by that point, she's practically frantic with concern.

Rachel can smell the alcohol on Cassie's breath before she even opens her mouth, and her heart sinks with disappointment. Even though it's painfully obvious that Cassie has a problem, Rachel knows she never drinks just for the sake of it - that there's always an underlying cause – and the vacant look in Cassie's eyes makes her heart twist in empathy.

"Cassie?" Rachel instinctively reaches out to her, but Cassie shrugs away from her touch.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," Cassie reassures her, and it's clear that she's making a valiant effort not to slur her words, "I just... I think we should call a rain check on tonight, OK?"

"Why? What happened?" Rachel asks her anxiously, edging her way through the door, even though Cassie was clearly planning to shut it before she had chance to.

"Oh, just another minor hiccup in the cosmological joke that is my life," Cassie informs her, and Rachel regards her questioningly. "That job interview... it fell through..." Cassie expounds, with a snort of bitter laughter, "They saw my little temper tantrum and they... they don't want to hire me anymore. Or rather, they don't want me setting a bad example for their precious little starlets. Apparently I'm a danger to myself and others," she spits out, and she looks so deflated, Rachel wants to cry.

"Oh Cassie, I'm so sorry." She wraps her arms around Cassie's waist, drawing her into a comforting hug. At first, she's grateful that Cassie doesn't pull away from her, but when Cassie just stands there, brittle and rigid in her arms, it's somehow even worse.

"You know it's their loss, right?" Rachel assures her, smoothing her fingers over Cassie's hair. There's a fleeting moment when Cassie's hand brushes against her hip, but then she seems to fold into herself. Her arms loll limply by her sides, and she doesn't respond to the question.

"Listen, I'm sure you've... you've got better things to do than sit around and watch me mope, so you should go, OK? Go have fun with Kurt or something," Cassie urges her, and Rachel gets a sickening sense of deja vu.

"No!" she heatedly objects, but then she makes an effort to soften her tone. "I'm here now, and maybe...maybe I can help cheer you up a bit."

"Rachel, I'm not in the mood," Cassie says lowly, and this time, she does pull away.

Rachel briefly wonders if she should listen, if she should give Cassie the space she needs to snap out of her funk, but the thought of walking away from her right now is excruciating.

"We don't have to have sex," Rachel reassures her, but then she realises she might have misinterpreted Cassie's meaning, because Cassie's expression hardens into a look of extreme annoyance.

"Then what's the point?" she snaps, and she may as well have sliced through Rachel's heart with a carving knife.

"Look, I'm sorry, OK? I didn't - " Cassie starts to say, but Rachel's too hurt to acknowledge the significance of Cassie actually apologising to her for once. It suddenly occurs to her that she's always the one doing the running, that she spends half of her food allowance on subway fares to and from Cassie's loft, but Cassie's never once offered to come over to her place. She hasn't even taken her out on a real date yet. She remembers Cassie's speech about not being the romantic type, and not for the first time, she wonders if everyone's right – if she's been deluding herself this whole time. Either way, it's clear she's holding out for something that's never going to happen.

"Is that all I am to you?" Rachel demands, and she can't do anything about the tears that are threatening to spill over, "Just some... glorified booty call?"

"No," Cassie says slowly, but her tone sounds flat and weary and not at all convincing. Rachel's blood starts to boil in the face of her apathy, and she feels like she did after Cassie ripped her performance of _'Oops'_ to shreds, like she's taken all the abuse she can handle and she's finally ready to fight back.

"So, what were you planning to do after I left? Just... drink yourself into a stupor? Again?" she snipes, and her ire only increases when Cassie rolls her eyes.

"Well, what do you expect, Schwimmer? I'm just a washed-up alcoholic, after all," she retorts, in that mocking tone that Rachel hates with every fibre of her being.

"You know, maybe I should have listened to you the first time around," Rachel informs her, and she can hear her voice getting progressively shriller over the ringing in her ears, "Because I'm starting to think you were right. You don't deserve me. You don't deserve anyone. And I'm sick of making the effort when you keep throwing it back in my face," she practically screams. "So... if you'd rather curl up with a bottle of rum than talk to me, then fine. Go drink yourself to death."

Rachel's heart seizes inside her chest when she realises what she's just said, but it's the look on Cassie's face that brings her crashing back down to Earth. She watches Cassie's eyes well with tears, sees her fight to blink them back, and she thinks she might actually be sick.

"Oh, God, Cassie, I - " She steps forward, but she's too afraid to close the distance between them, because Cassie's expression shifts into something cold and terrifying.

"Well..." Cassie takes a deep breath, and it sounds almost like a sob, but when she speaks again, her tone is icy and unyielding, "Thank you for your candour." She points towards the door, and her hand is shaking violently. "Now get the hell out of my house."

"Cassie - " Rachel's crying in earnest now, and she lets out a shocked gasp when she finds herself being frogmarched towards the door. Cassie pushes her over the threshold, and slams the door behind her before she even has a chance to apologise. Rachel sinks to her knees, and reaches out to touch the door as if it might magically spring back open for her. It doesn't, and she wonders if this is what dying feels like.

* * *

Cassie locks the door with trembling hands, and then slides down the wood panelling, hugging her knees to her chest.

_Don't let it hurt, don't let it hurt, don't let it hurt,_ she chants to herself, digging her fingernails into her thighs and knocking her head against the back of the door as she fends off a fresh onslaught of tears. She tried to do the right thing, she tried to get Rachel to leave so she wouldn't have to bear the brunt of her foul mood or get enmeshed in her self-pitying melodrama, but Rachel just wouldn't take no for an answer.

Cassie takes gulping breaths, trying to get her pulse rate under control, and even though it feels like her heart's been wrenched out of her chest, she's determined not to cry. Once was enough, and she won't let this happen again. She won't let Rachel – or anyone, for that matter – make her feel like she has something worth holding onto, only for them to snatch it away from her in the blink of an eye.

"Cassie?"

Cassie recoils away from the sound of Schwimmer's voice, even though it's tremulous and thick with tears. She scoots as far away from the door as possible, curling into a ball against the hallway wall.

"Cassie, please. I'm so sorry." Rachel's statement is punctuated with a ragged sob. "You know I didn't mean any of that, right?"

Cassie squeezes her eyes shut, because it doesn't matter. Rachel saw through her months ago, when she told her she was nothing more than a YouTube joke, and clearly the past few weeks haven't done anything to change her opinion.

"Go away," she commands, but it comes out like a strangled whisper, and she's not sure if Rachel can even hear her.

"Can we just... start over?" Rachel calls through the door, and it sounds pitiful and desperate, "We don't have to talk - not if you don't want to - we can just curl up on the couch and watch 'Smash.'" Rachel hesitates, like she's hoping for a response, but when Cassie maintains her vigil of silence, she lets out a laugh that sounds half-hysterical. "You just... you have to stop comparing me to Karen, OK? Because you're starting to give me a complex."

Cassie can't listen to this anymore, so she stumbles to her feet and reaches for the bottle of Malibu on her kitchen counter. She ignores the litre of Coke Zero standing alongside it and settles for chugging it neat from the bottle instead. Then she flicks off all the lights, and retires to her bedroom to lose herself in the darkness.

* * *

Rachel collapses to the floor in a sobbing heap as soon as she walks through the door, and Kurt rushes over to kneel down beside her.

"Rachel? What happened? What did she do?" he demands, and she clings to him convulsively.

"It's all my fault," she wails, burying her tear-soaked face in his shoulder. "She was... she was just trying to tell me that she needed some time alone and I... said the most awful things to her. Oh God, Kurt, the look on her face. I think... I think I really hurt her. And I don't... I d-don't know what to do. I d-don't know how to make it right."

"OK, shhhh," he tells her, rocking her in his arms. "It's going to be OK. Everything's going to be OK."

Rachel just burrows into his embrace and cries some more, because she can't quite bring herself to believe it.

* * *

That night, her dreams are marred by fractured images of her worst fears. She sees a discarded vial of painkillers lying on Cassie's kitchen counter, and the feeling of foreboding is so tangible, it makes her hyperventilate. She sprints towards Cassie's bedroom, screaming her name, but she can't get there quickly enough because she has to wade through a sea of empty wine bottles, and the sound they're making as they clink together is deafening. Then she's leaning over Cassie, begging her to wake up, desperately trying to resuscitate her, but she's cold and unresponsive. Cassie's cheeks are still streaked with tears, and her eyes are wide open, staring fixedly at Rachel with that same wounded look she was sporting earlier. When Rachel finally manages to escape from the horror of it all, she's screaming and drenched in a cold sweat.

Kurt's there again, stroking her hair, declaring that it's just her mind playing tricks on her, but Rachel's heart won't stop clamouring against her chest and her hands are damp with dread.

She tries Cassie's cell, but it goes straight through to voicemail again, so she reaches for her laptop, trying to track down her landline number through White Pages. It takes her three attempts to type in Cassie's name, because her hands are trembling so violently, and she nearly cries with relief when it returns a result. She dials Cassie's number, with her lips moving in a silent prayer.

"_You know the routine. Leave a message, and if I like you, I might consider calling you back."_

Rachel's too distraught to even contemplate smiling at that.

"Cassie, please, I know you're mad at me, but I need... I need to know that you're OK. Please, please pick up the phone." There's no reply, and so Rachel tries again, feeling like her heart is going to beat out of her chest.

"Cassie, I just had a nightmare, and you were..." Her voice wavers, and it takes a moment before she's able to speak again. "Look, I'm really scared right now and you need... you need to promise me that you're not going to do anything stupid, OK?" she pleads, and her breath hitches when she hears a muted click on the other end of the line.

"Look, Schwimmer, if I was going to top myself, I would've done it a long time ago, and if you think I'm about to slit my wrists over you, then you're even more full of yourself than I thought. Just..." Cassie takes a deep breath, and Rachel braces herself for a barrage of insults, "Go back to sleep, OK?"

"Cassie, I..." she starts to say, but then she realises that she's listening to a dial tone. She's not sure whether to feel relieved, or devastated.

* * *

"_Rachel,_" Kurt hisses, elbowing her in the ribs, and she snaps back to attention, realising that everyone's staring at her expectantly. She isn't prepared for this. She hasn't even picked a song, let alone rehearsed it, and her voice is so hoarse from crying, she knows that she's going to sound scratchy and nasal.

"We're waiting, Miss Berry," Carmen reminds her, and Rachel feels like she's under a microscope, that Carmen's looking for any excuse to cut her from the program. She can't let that happen; she can't let Carmen see that she was right all along; that Cassie's the only person who's ever had the ability to tear her focus away from her performance, to make her forget why she's here.

She moves to the front of the room on leaden legs, and desperately racks her brain for a solution. She knows that she looks a mess; that no amount of concealer will hide the dark circles under her eyes and the red splotches on her cheeks, but she's going to prove to Carmen Tibideaux that even when she's at her worst, she's still better than everyone else in this room. Well, except for Kurt, of course.

She whispers her selection to the pianist, and he nods his approval. Rachel takes a sip of her mineral water and then clears her throat, waiting for the brief intro to play out. Then she starts to sing, and it's heartfelt and melancholy.

"_If I could turn back time_

_If I could find a way_

_I'd take back those words that hurt you_

_And you'd stay..."_

Her tone is raspier than usual, but this is more soft rock than musical theatre, so it works in her favour. She knows it's powerful, because she means every word of it, and when she glances at Carmen, she can see how surprised she is by her unorthodox song choice.

"_I don't know why I did the things I did_

_I don't know why I said the things I said_

_Pride's like a knife it can cut deep inside_

_Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes."_

She can feel her face crumpling a little at that, and this time she isn't feigning the emotion. Her voice nearly breaks on the last line, but she swallows back her tears, knowing that she's fighting for survival.

"_I didn't really mean to hurt you_

_I didn't wanna see you go_

_I know I made you cry, but baby..."_

She belts out the chorus, putting everything she has into it, and the only thing that gets her through Carmen's unrelenting scrutiny is imagining that she's singing it all to Cassie. By the time she's finished, it feels like she's been physically and emotionally gutted, and for one terrifying moment, the room stays deathly silent. Then there's a thunderous round of applause, but Rachel can't even bring herself to muster a polite smile in response.

"That was incredible," Carmen tells her, and Rachel nods her gratitude, startling a little when the older woman gently catches hold of her wrist. "Are you OK?" she asks, and her tone is soft and concerned.

Rachel nods again, feeling her eyes flood with tears. She gives Carmen a watery smile, and then returns to sit beside Kurt. She sees him hastily putting his cell phone back in his pocket, and pretends to be offended.

"Am I boring you?" she asks him jokingly, and he shakes his head, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

"You were amazing, as always," he tells her, and she rests her head against his shoulder, staring unseeingly at the stage.

* * *

"Rachel, can I have a word?" Carmen asks her, after she's dismissed the rest of the class, and Rachel stops in her tracks, closing her eyes in a silent plea for reprieve.

"Of course," she replies, in what she hopes is a measured tone, but she concentrates on avoiding Carmen's penetrating gaze.

"You realise that the dance studio is off-limits after hours, and that it wasn't intended to be used for recreational purposes?" Carmen asks her, and Rachel's eyes widen.

"I... don't..." She flounders, ducking her head, and her face feels like it's on fire, "I mean, I'm...uh... not sure what you're referring to..." she stutters, willing the ground to swallow her whole. Are there cameras fitted in the studio? Have they been under surveillance this whole time? The thought is horrifying, but Carmen actually looks amused.

"I was working late on Friday," she explains, but Rachel's relief doesn't last for long when she adds, "And I heard the two of you - "

Rachel stares at the floor and clenches her fists, squeezing her eyes shut.

"...Singing," Carmen concludes, with a wry smile. "And I have to say, I haven't heard Cassie laugh like that in years. I'm actually surprised you were able to get her to perform with you. I don't think she's played the piano since her mother died."

Rachel's stomach twists into a painful knot, because Carmen's revelation just makes her feel worse, and she bites her lip, fighting for control.

"What I'm trying to say is that, while I certainly can't condone your relationship, you were right in saying that it's out of my hands now. So, if you choose to proceed against my advice and your better judgement, then perhaps... perhaps you shouldn't be so quick to give up on her," she says, and Rachel stares at her for a moment, before breaking into a small smile.

"I'm not giving up on her," she assures her, pulling Carmen into an impulsive hug. "Thank you."

Carmen laughs a little, patting her on the back before she pulls away again.

"You're welcome. But please tell Cassandra that if she wants to use my studio again, she'd better pay for the damage she did to the door."

* * *

Cassie's starting to think that swallowing the contents of her medicine cabinet would have been preferable to waking up like this, because between her hangover and the amount of tears she's shed in the past twenty four hours, she probably needs a saline drip to counteract her dehydration. She was aiming to drink enough to black out, to erase Rachel's words from her memory, but she remembers every agonising detail, including that tearful phone call from last night. She nearly chewed through her bottom lip trying to resist the compulsion to pick up the phone, but Rachel sounded so terrified, she couldn't ignore her. It's the last concession she intends to make, though.

The funny thing is, she doesn't even care about the stupid fucking job anymore, even though that's what provoked this whole mess in the first place. Her bed feels too big without Rachel in it, and she can still smell her shampoo on the pillows. She forces herself to get up – she doesn't even know what time it is, but judging from the muted sunlight streaming through her curtains and the headache it induces, it's way past midday. After taking a moment to regain her equilibrium, she starts ripping the sheets off the bed. It's time to start washing that girl out of her hair.

She knows this is for the best, that it's better to end it now, because if Rachel can hurt her this badly after a few weeks, Cassie doesn't want to imagine what she'll be capable of in a few months. She always knew this would never last, and lo and behold, her cynicism proved warranted. She's just glad she never did something idiotic, like tell Rachel she was falling in love with her or something.

Cassie wipes her eyes on her sleeve, and narrowly avoids stepping on her cell phone, which is still lying on the floor (and the screen is cracked, which is just fucking great). She picks it up, and promptly deletes the fifteen missed calls and voicemail notifications. She doesn't want to listen to Schwimmer's snivelling apologies. In fact – with the touch of a button, Cassie empties the entire contents of her inbox, because she doesn't plan on mooning over their old text messages when she's feeling nostalgic, either. She jumps a mile when the phone vibrates in her hand, and nearly drops it on the floor again, frowning when she sees the multimedia message from an unfamiliar number.

"_I think this was intended for you,"_ it says, and curiosity gets the better of her.

She hits play, and she's confronted with the image of Rachel singing _a Cher song_, of all things. She's on stage in the round room, and usually her confidence is so much bigger than her diminutive frame, but today she looks broken, and so damn small. Cassie's thumb hovers over the pause button, and she wants to look away so badly, but she can't, because it's the most raw and honest performance she's ever seen Schwimmer give, and it's riveting. She watches Rachel unravel on stage, listens to her note-perfect voice crack under the weight of her emotion, and even though Schwimmer had no way of knowing that Cassie would eventually see this, Cassie can tell – even without having it spelled out for her - that this is all about her.

She stares at her phone long after the performance is over, and realises that she's brushing her thumb back and forth against the screen. She doesn't even acknowledge that she's crying, until her tears spill onto her hand. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with her?

"_Butt out, Twinkle Toes." _She texts back, because she knows it has to be Kurt trying to put her on a guilt trip.

"_Fine. But it would be nice if I didn't have to spend another evening cleaning tear stains and snot off my vintage Marc Jacobs' jacket."_

"_So send me your dry cleaning bill,"_ Cassie retorts, and he doesn't reply after that.

* * *

It takes Rachel three days to work up the courage to make the call, but feeling emboldened by her conversation with Carmen, she barricades herself in her room and dials Cassie's landline. She wraps herself in a blanket, and just prays that there's enough room left on Cassie's voicemail facility to say everything she needs to.

"Cassie, it's me," she murmurs quietly, hoping against hope that Cassie might actually pick up the phone this time around. She waits in vain for several moments, and then finally resigns herself to making the speech that she's been mentally rehearsing for days.

"Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but I figure I've got nothing left to lose at this point, so I'm just going to put it out there, OK?" Rachel says in a rush of breath. "I love you, Cassandra. So much. More than I've ever loved anyone..." she trails off, wishing that she didn't feel like she was constantly on the verge of tears, "And I... I'm so sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean what I said, I just... I can't be that girl again. The girl who gives everything and walks away with nothing."

She takes a deep breath, knowing that she needs to make the ultimatum, but the prospect of losing Cassie for good is terrifying.

"I know I said that I was fine with our relationship being purely physical, but I... I respect myself too much to get involved with someone who doesn't love me back; who doesn't want me as much as I want them. That's how it's been with everyone in my life; Shelby, Finn... and I just... I can't do it again. It hurts too much," she whispers, and she's crying now, because she's laying her soul bare and she doesn't know what she'll do if Cassandra turns her down. "So... if you have feelings for me, too, will you please... please just call me back. Because I miss you so much."

She ends the conversation there, because she's sobbing so hard her voice is barely comprehensible. She stays up until 2am, cradling the phone against her chest, but Cassie doesn't call.

* * *

Cassie replays Rachel's message over and over again, but every time she makes a beeline for the front door, she swivels on her heel, because she doesn't know how to do this. She doesn't know how to let her guard down and love someone, not in the way Schwimmer wants to be loved. She's bitter, and broke, and if Jeff Fucking Saunders is any indication, it doesn't look like she's going to have a steady job any time soon, either. She may be good enough for someone who's just looking to get laid; someone who's as jaded and messed up as her, but she isn't good enough for Rachel. And what's the point in making a promise she's not even sure she can keep?

They were supposed to be seeing Wicked tomorrow, but she can't face going on her own. Sitting through a show always sends her spiralling into a depression anyway, and without Schwimmer there to keep her amused, it's just going to be an exercise in self-flagellation; a painful reminder of everything she could have been and what she'll never have. She calls Benji and tells him she has to go out of town for a last-minute interview; that she tried to get out of it, but they couldn't re-schedule. He's very gracious about it, and she wonders if her opinion even matters to him anymore, now that she's just the disgraced dance teacher whose name has been dragged through the mud more times than she'd care to count.

She posts the tickets through Rachel's letterbox later on that afternoon, when she knows Schwimmer will still be at NYADA. She writes _"For you and Kurt"_ on the envelope, and hopes they manage to have a good time in spite of her.

* * *

Twinkles Toes isn't giving up.

_This is what Rachel's life was like before she met you. Someone needs to save her from herself. Please._

Cassie opens the attached video and watches Rachel hamming it up in the campest, most melodramatic version of '_Run, Joey, Run' _she's ever seen. It's terrible, and she would be laughing her ass off, if only she remembered how to. A few months ago, it would have provided her with all the ammunition she needed to taunt Schwimmer for the rest of her days at NYADA. Now, her eyes crinkle at the corners as she gets a glimpse of the high school drama queen Rachel used to be, because yeah, she has a few videos like this lying around, too.

She wonders if Kurt's just trying to draw her attention to the three guys in the music video. They must have liked Rachel a hell of a lot to sign up for this level of humiliation, and she assumes one of them is her former fiancé, but she can't tell which one. Then she reminds herself that she's not supposed to care.

* * *

Rachel thought the _Wicked_ tickets might be some kind of peace-offering, but Cassie still isn't returning her calls, and now she's on the verge of giving up hope altogether. She just muddles her way through her classes and spends the evenings staring at the ceiling, listening to Sarah McLachlan until Kurt screams that he can't take it anymore. She's such a wreck, even Simon's stopped picking on her; he just throws her the occasional pitying look and gives her a wide berth.

She wants her Dads so badly, but she can't call them, because that would mean explaining that she's been keeping this from them for months, and they would be so disappointed in her. She knows that she has to snap out of it, that she needs to start moving on (Brody's already asked her out to dinner - twice) but the thought of dating anyone but Cassie makes her feel physically sick.

When her phone rings at 1am, she snatches it up without even looking at the caller ID panel.

"Hey... it's Schwimmer, right?" a woman asks her, and her voice sounds familiar, even though Rachel can't quite place it.

Someone other than Cassie using her nickname is a little unsettling, so Rachel tries not to descend into a blind panic. "That's me. Is Casssandra OK?" she demands, and she hears an amused snort on the other end of the line.

"Well, right now she's passed out on my couch, and it has to be said, I haven't seen her this shit-faced since college."

Something finally clicks, and Rachel realises that she's speaking to Joanne, Cassie's friend from the strip club.

"Do you want me to come and get her?" she asks hopefully, even though her heart twists at the thought of Cassie being incapacitated.

"Not unless you have a gurney lying around," Joanne retorts drolly, and Rachel can see why she and Cassie get along so well.

"Honestly, she's fine, she just needs to sleep it off," Joanne assures her. There's a lengthy pause, and then she finally continues, "Look, I don't know what the deal is with you two, but she's obviously into you in a big way, so I'm hoping you can talk some sense into her."

"Well, I'm not her favourite person at the moment," Rachel acknowledges ruefully, even though she feels a spark of hope at Joanne's words, "But I'll try."

"OK..." Joanne takes a deep breath, "She's going to kill me for telling you this, but she came here tonight asking me if I could... if I could fix her up with a job."

"As a stripper?" Rachel asks disbelievingly, and Joanne gives a bitter laugh.

"You don't have to sound so appalled. But yeah, as a stripper. Now, I've got to hand it to her, she'd probably put us all to shame, but we both know she's a hell of a lot better than that."

Rachel's eyes fill with tears, and she nods against the receiver. "Give me your address and I'll come right over," she tells her, hoping her voice doesn't sound like it's shaking.

"Honey, you try talking to her right now, and you're either going to get a mouthful of abuse or a lap full of puke. Leave it until tomorrow. That's when she's supposed to be auditioning."

"You have to _audition_?" Rachel demands incredulously, and Joanne laughs again.

"Why, do you want to come and try out?"

"No... that's OK, thank you," Rachel assures her.

"Wow, you're so polite. How the hell did you end up with this crazy bitch?"

"I guess I just..." Rachel's voice falters, and Joanne lets out a low whistle.

"OK, you sound like you're about to start crying, and I've had enough of that shit for one night, so I'm going to hang up now, OK?"

"OK," Rachel says, laughing through her tears. "But Joanne? Thank you."

"Hey! I'm the one who should be thanking you. I never thought I'd see Cassandra July completely and utterly pussy-whipped, and you know I'm never going to let her hear the end of this, right?" Joanne lets out a gleeful chuckle. "Remind me again how old you are?"

"I'm going now," Rachel informs her, but she's smiling. She likes Joanne a lot.

* * *

Rachel raps curtly on Cassie's door, but she stands well clear of the spy hole. When it swings open, everything that she was planning to say dies on her lips, because Cassie looks exhausted. Beautiful, but exhausted. There are dark circles under her dull eyes, and her complexion is worryingly drawn. Cassie just stares at her for a moment, and Rachel realises that she needs to say something before she slams the door in her face.

"You're not becoming a stripper," she blurts out, and Cassie looks taken aback for a minute. Then she figures out the source of that particular snippet of information, and her eyes narrow.

"Why not? You thought I'd be 'right at home' there, remember?" Cassie reminds her, but even though her tone is caustic, her expression remains impassive.

"You know I didn't mean that," Rachel says, and she sounds desperate, even to her own ears. "You just... embarrassed me, that's all."

"Well, I decided to take your advice," Cassie says, with a nonchalant shrug. "It's easy money, and I still get to dance for a living."

"There's a difference between dancing and defiling yourself," Rachel shoots back, and Cassie rolls her eyes.

"We've already had this conversation, Schwimmer, so if you don't mind, I've got an audition to prepare for." She hesitates for a moment, and then turns a tight-lipped smile in Rachel's direction, "Actually, there is something you can help me with. I'm torn between 'Pour Some Sugar on Me' and 'SexyBack.' Any thoughts?"

"Cassie, come on, don't do this," Rachel pleads, and she moves to push through the door just as Cassie's in the process of slamming it in her face. The dense wood swings shut on her hand, trapping her fingers against the door frame, and for a moment, her vision goes black. All she can feel is excruciating pain, and she's paralysed by the shock of it. Then she surveys her hand, and feels sick to the stomach when she sees the purple and white indentations running across her fingers. She cradles her hand against her chest, gasping for breath, and then the tears start to fall in earnest.

"Ow..." she sobs quietly, over and over again, and when the door swings open, Cassie looks horrified.

"What happened? What's wrong?" she demands, but Rachel just shakes her head, writhing around in agony. She's vaguely aware of Cassie scooping her up and carrying her inside, and she presses her cheek against Cassie's chest, feeling the pain start to dissipate a little.

"It's OK. Shhh, it's all right," Cassie reassures her, setting Rachel down on the kitchen counter while she fills up a pan full of freezing cold water. She lays it on the floor, and then pulls Rachel into her arms, enfolding her in a warm embrace.

"Let me see," she coaxes, gingerly reaching for her hand, but Rachel lets out a ragged sob, shaking her head.

Cassie holds her tighter, and Rachel nuzzles into her neck, clinging to her with her free hand.

"Come on, sweetie, let me see," she urges, and Rachel cautiously holds out her hand, sucking in a sharp breath when Cassie gently cradles it in her palm. Her fingers are already bruised and discoloured, and they're throbbing violently.

Cassie places a feather-light kiss on her knuckles. "Put it in here, OK? It'll help bring the swelling down," she tells her, and she eases Rachel's hand into the icy water.

Rachel flinches a little, and Cassie kisses her forehead, her nose, her cheeks.

"God, I'm so sorry," she chokes out, and it's only then that Rachel sees the tears glistening on Cassie's face.

"It's not your fault," Rachel assures her, tenderly wiping them away with her free hand. "I shouldn't have put my hand in the door. I just..."

"What?" Cassie prompts her, giving her a gentle squeeze.

"Why didn't you call me?" Rachel asks her brokenly, and Cassie lets out a sound that's half-laugh, and half-sob.

"I wanted to," Cassie informs her, and her tone is laced with so much longing, Rachel can't doubt the sincerity behind it, "I've... just... I've never felt this way before, OK?" she eventually confesses, "And you know I suck at this kind of stuff."

Rachel smiles a little at that, snuggling closer, and Cassie presses a kiss against her shoulder.

"You're not just a booty call, OK?" Cassie murmurs into her hair, and then she gestures to Rachel's hand with a sparkle in her eyes, "Thank God, because let's face it, I'm not going to be getting any action for a while."

Rachel giggles, and then hesitantly removes her hand from the water, flexing her fingers experimentally.

"Nope," she says, shaking her head, and soon they're both laughing hysterically.

"I don't think they're broken, but we can go to the hospital and get them checked out, if you want?"

Rachel shakes her head resolutely. "No... I... I just want to stay here."

"OK," Cassie says softly, and she pulls Rachel into her lap, until they're as close as humanly possible.

"Cassie, all of that stuff I said... I didn't mean it," Rachel tells her again, and she cups Cassie's chin with her free hand, searching for forgiveness. Cassie nods, attempting a small smile, but judging from the pained expression on her face, she's still not entirely convinced.

* * *

The dam finally breaks a couple of hours later, when they're catching up on 'Smash' (Cassie begrudgingly admits that Rachel's a much better singer than Karen, and it's worth it to see the goofy smile on her face).

It's just mindless entertainment to start with, until Cassie picks up on the refrain of a song that Megan Hilty's singing, about something second-hand and broken still making a pretty sound, and she doesn't even realise that she's crying until a horrified-looking Schwimmer reaches out to gently wipe away her tears.

"_And I wish my mother still could hear_

_That sound beyond compare_

_I'll play her song till everybody knows."_

Cassie breaks down completely then, hiding her face in her hands, and Rachel hastily hits mute on the TV, enfolding her in a one-armed embrace.

"You're not second-hand and broken, OK?" she tells her firmly, "You're amazing."

Cassie sobs into her shoulder, clinging to her tightly, and Rachel just cradles her, rocking her back and forth, until Cassie's all cried out. Then Rachel cups her chin, forcing Cassie to initiate eye contact.

"It's going to be OK," she assures her, stroking her cheek, and then she leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss against Cassie's quivering lips.

"I love you," she murmurs, and Cassie's hands start to sweat. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears and she briefly wonders if she's going to asphyxiate, but she manages to get the words out.

"I love you, too."

And she means it.

Schwimmer looks like she doesn't know whether to burst into tears or throw a party, but she settles for snuggling back into Cassie's arms instead, and Cassie holds her close, vowing never to let go of her again.


	16. Chapter 16

"_I love you, too."_

There's a part of Rachel that desperately wants Cassie to say it again, because she's barely slept for the past week, and she's not entirely convinced that this isn't just some kind of auditory hallucination. Even still, she tries desperately hard not to overreact to those four little, life-changing words, because she can see how hard it is for Cassie to say them. She looks shell-shocked afterwards, like she's reeling from the effects of sharing more than she intended to, so Rachel clamps down on her natural instinct to react like they're in their very own romantic drama. She's done enough crying for one day, and it isn't hard to temper her beaming smile, either, because seeing Cassie like this – realising how damaged she is beneath all of that bravado - is somehow more painful than the relentless throbbing in her hand.

When she first laid eyes on Cassie, she saw a woman who was so confident in her own ability, she was past the point of caring what people thought of her; a teacher with exacting standards who could afford to say what no-one else would dare to because she was better than all of them. Cassie performed without a trace of self-doubt; taught with an authority that never impinged on her creativity, and Rachel thought she was an impenetrable enigma that no-one would ever figure out. Then she started to realise just how good of an actress Cassie really was, because the night after Cassie was thrown out of NYADA, when she was too drunk to keep up the pretence, Rachel discovered her best-kept secret – that the contempt she directs towards her students is nothing compared to the hatred she feels for herself. At the time, Rachel thought she'd pulled back the curtain as far as it would go, but Cassie was so blasé about it all the next morning – like she hadn't just spent an hour sobbing brokenly in Rachel's arms - Rachel started to wonder if it really _was_ just the alcohol talking. Cassie went back to being her smug, unflappable self, and Rachel almost bought into the illusion again. Now, she knows that night wasn't just a fluke; that Cassie's still haunted by her mistakes; she's still human enough to hurt, and she feels every bit as alone as Rachel used to, waiting in vain for the world to notice her talent.

Rachel's never _ached_ for someone before, not like this, but Cassie's holding onto her like she's all she has left; like she's the only thing keeping her from falling apart, and Rachel's worried that if she lets go, Cassie's going to pull away from her all over again. She thinks about how Cassie looked when she first opened the door this afternoon, haggard and dead behind the eyes - like she'd lost all of the vitality that drew Rachel to her in the first place - and she never wants to see her like that again.

"Come on," she proclaims, turning her cheek to brush her lips against Cassie's jaw, "Let's go to bed."

It's only 8pm, but Cassie looks every bit as exhausted as Rachel feels, and she just wants to fall asleep in Cassie's arms and forget about how torturous these past two weeks have been. Cassie's nod is barely perceptible, like the simple act of canting her head requires more energy than she's capable of expending, and it's strange seeing her like this, sluggish and subdued. When Cassie edges her way out of their embrace, Rachel reaches for her hand without even thinking, but she can't conceal a wince when she tries to curl her fingers around Cassie's. Cassie immediately relinquishes her grip, and her eyes flicker guiltily towards Rachel's bruised fingers, like she's personally responsible for her pain.

"It was an accident," Rachel reminds her softly, and Cassie briefly meets her gaze, before hastily looking away again.

They stand side-by-side at the bathroom sink, brushing their teeth, and Rachel can see Cassie's concern at the sight of her trying - and failing - to use her toothbrush with her left hand. She's so caught up in sneaking glances at Cassie in the mirror, she misses her mouth completely and winds up dragging the toothbrush across her cheek instead, covering her face with toothpaste. Her clumsiness elicits a quiet snort from Cassie, though, so it's worth the embarrassment.

Cassie hastily rinses her mouth and then dries off her hands, gathering Rachel's hair into a ponytail so it doesn't get in the way while she leans over the sink. Rachel voices her thanks through a mouthful of foam, and Cassie's lips twitch in response.

"Do you think you can forgo the full spa treatment tonight?" Cassie asks her with a weary smile, "Because I'm not sure if I can stay awake for another hour."

Rachel narrows her eyes in a mock glare, but then she nods her agreement. "Just give me a minute, and I'll be right out."

When Rachel walks into the bedroom, she stops in her tracks at the sight of Cassie stripped down to her underwear. She's in the process of pulling on a pair of silk pyjamas, and Rachel has to bite back a gasp when she sees how much weight she's lost in the space of the last two weeks. Cassie's always been enviably slender, but now she looks painfully thin, to the point where Rachel wonders if she's even been bothering to eat at all. Seeing Cassie's ribcage jutting out makes something protective swell up inside of her, and she hastily crosses the room, wrapping her arms around Cassie's waist and pulling her into another hug.

"I'm making you breakfast tomorrow," she informs her firmly, and Cassie gives her an affectionate squeeze.

"As much as I'd like to cash in on my renter's insurance, I'm not letting you anywhere near my kitchen until you have full use of your limbs again," she jokes, letting her fingers graze over Rachel's hand with a gentleness that Rachel's stopped being surprised by.

Cassie pulls back the comforter and collapses onto the bed, and Rachel hastily follows suit. They turn to look at each other, and Rachel inches closer, until they're sharing the same pillow and their faces are inches apart. She reaches out with her uninjured hand, running her fingers through Cassie's hair and tenderly stroking her cheek, and Cassie plants a kiss against her palm, closing her eyes. Her hand feels cold against Rachel's hip, but the way her thumb strokes back and forth in an intermittent caress makes a familiar warmth kindle in Rachel's stomach.

When Cassie opens her eyes again, she looks preoccupied, and Rachel wishes she knew what she was thinking. She knows better than to press Cassie for information she isn't willing to give, though – she learned that lesson the hard way. She just tries to convey how much she cares through her touch, and for the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel like a prelude to sex.

She doesn't even realise that she's biting her lip, until Cassie regards her searchingly.

"What?" she asks softly, and Rachel lowers her gaze.

"Nothing! I just..." she hesitates, running her fingers back and forth over Cassie's forearm, "I just missed this, that's all."

"Well, that makes two of us," Cassie confesses, shuffling a little closer, until their foreheads are nearly touching.

"Maybe next time you could just... talk to me," Rachel ventures, feeling like she's negotiating a minefield, "Instead of shutting me out."

Cassie ducks her head, looking suitably chastened.

"Look, Schwimmer, I've been on my own for a long time," she says quietly, and Rachel's heart lurches when she hears the vulnerability behind her admission, "And when I fall apart, I can't rely on someone else to pick up the pieces, because they... they might not always be around when I need them." Cassie rolls away from her, but not before Rachel sees the flicker of anguish on her features. "I mean, let's face it, I'm not exactly the easiest person to deal with," she concludes, and her tone is marred with self-loathing.

Rachel wants to tell Cassie that she doesn't care, that she'll stand by her through the good, the bad and the ugly, but she can sense Cassie's discomfort, and she knows acknowledging the gravity of what she's just revealed will only make it worse.

"Well, rumour has it I can be pretty high maintenance, too," she says lightly, and it works, because Cassie snorts with amusement.

"No comment," she counters, but she's smiling when she turns to face Rachel again.

"So you're not..." Rachel absent-mindedly plays with the buttons on Cassie's pyjamas, "You're not having second thoughts?"

"About us?" Cassie clarifies, and Rachel nods, hardly daring to breathe as she waits for Cassie's response. She stares at a spot past Cassie's shoulder, neglecting to mention that even though she was hoping with every fibre of her being that Cassie would return her phone call, it wasn't really a surprise when she didn't.

"No," Cassie says simply, twining their fingers together, and Rachel feels her entire body sag with relief.

"It's just..." Rachel takes a deep breath, deciding to expose some insecurities of her own, "I know I'm probably not as experienced or as attractive as the people you usually - "

"Listen to me..." Cassie cuts her off, but then she can't seem to speak for a moment, and Rachel watches her throat bob up and down, "If anyone should be questioning whether they're worthy of being in this relationship, it's me. I'm - "

"You're the woman who taught me more in the space of one semester than I learned the entire time I was in Glee Club," Rachel interjects, because she still hasn't forgiven herself for hitting below the belt during their argument, and she needs to repair the damage.

"I always thought that my talent spoke for itself, but you made me realise that wanting something isn't enough - I have to _earn_ it, and trying to prove myself to you made me accomplish things I didn't think I was capable of. I won the Winter Showcase because of you," Rachel informs her earnestly, "Because you made me tap into parts of myself that I didn't even know existed - "

"Like the gay parts?" Cassie asks her wryly, but Rachel isn't going to let her make light of this.

"You made me want to _fight_ for it," she continues, regarding Cassie intently. "And maybe I needed the reality check, because I don't feel like a starstruck kid straight out of high school anymore, I feel like a _woman; _a woman who's finally starting to understand the emotions I spent all those years singing about."

Rachel hesitates, because she's half-expecting Cassie to roll her eyes at that, but Cassie looks dumbstruck, and for one heart-stopping moment, Rachel actually thinks that she's going to cry. She strokes her thumb over Cassie's knuckles, reverently playing with her fingers.

"I spent so many nights fantasising about what it would be like... to be in New York, to study at NYADA... and none of it's turning out like I expected, but it doesn't matter, because when I'm with you, it still feels like I'm... like I'm dreaming the impossible dream."

"You're sure it's not more of a nightmare?" Cassie asks her, and this time, Rachel giggles in spite of herself.

"No!" she protests, but then she reconsiders, "Well, maybe at first," she confesses, laughing when Cassie's mouth falls open in mock outrage, "But not anymore – not now I know you're actually capable of being nice."

"Only to you, Schwimmer," Cassie says softly, and Rachel's heart melts.

"Cassie, you might not be on Broadway anymore, but everyone at NYADA knows you deserve to be headlining your own show, and if I can get to the point where I'm even _half_ as good as you are, I'll be - "

"Trust me, Schwimmer, with that voice, you don't need any of my parlour tricks," Cassie interrupts, brushing her lips against Rachel's hand. "And you didn't win the Winter Showcase because of me, OK? You won it because you blew everyone else out of the water. You had the whole room eating out of your hand and that's... that's a gift that only comes along once in a lifetime." She hesitates, ducking her head, "And you were right. Everything I said to you that morning was borne out of spite. I turned up wanting to hate every minute of your performance, but you... you took my breath away, and I..." she trails off, shaking her head, and she looks so disgusted with herself, Rachel says the first thing that springs to her mind.

"I once invited a girl to join Glee club because we needed to make up the numbers, but she turned out to have an amazing voice, so I sent her to an abandoned crack house instead of the auditorium," Rachel confesses, and Cassie gapes at her in disbelief.

"I didn't want her to steal my solos!" Rachel hastens to explain, in a pathetic attempt to defend herself, and Cassie guffaws with laughter. She quickly sobers up, though, and Rachel regards her questioningly.

"I once slept with a guy because I didn't know how to deal with my feelings for his girlfriend," she admits, in a tone that's hoarse with barely repressed emotion, and Rachel's own smile rapidly starts to fade, "But hearing her crying down the phone didn't give me quite the thrill I expected it to, and I couldn't turn up to class for a week because I didn't know how to look her in the eye."

"Cassie - "

"No," Cassie says harshly, like she can't stand the thought of Rachel giving her a free pass, "I've done a lot of shitty things, Schwimmer, but it kills me that I... that I did that to you."

"Well, maybe I wasn't crying because of Brody," Rachel tells her quietly, "Maybe I was crying because the thought of you hating me that much was... was a lot worse than losing some boy I barely knew."

"Oh, great, well, now I feel like an even bigger asshole," Cassie tells her with a rueful laugh, swiping at her eyes. "I didn't hate you," she assures her, "I'm just... I'm not used to my students showing me up, and I couldn't stand the thought of sitting on the sidelines; watching you collect Tony Awards like they were going out of fashion."

Rachel finds herself blinking back tears, because all she's ever wanted is for Cassie to believe in her, and even though they're not at loggerheads anymore, it means more to her now than ever.

"And if - by some miracle - that actually happens, you won't... you won't hate me for it now?" Rachel asks her anxiously, and then she realises that she didn't phrase that question quite as delicately as she should have. Still, Cassie doesn't seem offended, she just shakes her head.

"It's... it's not easy watching other people achieve what you wish you still had," Cassie admits, "But if it can't be me, then there's no-one else I would rather see up there than you. And I'll... I'll do whatever it takes to help you get there. Even if I'm not your teacher anymore."

Rachel doesn't know how to verbalise what she's feeling right now, so she closes the distance between them, drawing Cassie into a prolonged kiss that she hopes goes some way to repairing the toll the last two weeks have taken on them. It's soft, and loving, and when she eventually pulls away, it takes several seconds before Cassie's eyelids flutter open again. Her lips curl into a contented smile, but she regards Rachel suspiciously.

"You're just trying to make me say it again, aren't you?" she deduces, and Rachel's eyes widen innocently.

"Say what?" she asks in mock confusion, but she gives up the charade when she sees Cassie's knowing smile. "Just one more time?" Rachel beseeches, and Cassie makes a show of sighing in exasperation. She wets her lips, and then opens her mouth, and Rachel holds her breath, regarding her expectantly.

"I..." Cassie hesitates, meeting Rachel's eager gaze, "_...'ve been waiting, for a girl like you, to come into my life,_" she croons, clutching her heart in a parody of sentimentality, and Rachel slaps her lightly on the arm when she starts laughing.

"You always have to ruin the moment," she laments, but it's such a relief to see the sparkle back in Cassie's eyes, she can't even pretend to be mad.

"_I've been waiiiiting for someone new, to make me feel alive. Yeah, waiiiiting, for a girl like you, to come into my life," _Cassie continues to sing unrepentantly, but then her teasing grin gives way to a soft smile, and she reaches out to play with the ends of Rachel's hair.

"So... does this mean you're finally going to stop calling me Schwimmer?" Rachel asks her, deciding to capitalise on a golden opportunity, and Cassie rolls her eyes.

"What, and start calling you 'pookie' and 'baby girl' instead? Never gonna happen," Cassie retorts, but she softens the words by kissing Rachel tenderly on the nose. "Does it really bother you?" she asks curiously, and Rachel hesitates. Then she shakes her head, because if she's honest, it doesn't. Not anymore. In fact, she kind of likes the fact that Cassie has a nickname just for her, and "Schwimmer" stopped sounding like an insult a long time ago.

"Everyone misses you at NYADA, you know?" she tells Cassie solemnly, "I even heard Simon say that he'd have you back in a heartbeat if it meant he didn't have to sit through another lesson with - well, I won't repeat what he called Mrs Dumont, but suffice it to say it wasn't flattering," Rachel concludes, and it's enough to elicit a small smile from Cassie. "And Carmen still has a soft spot for you, in spite of what you might think. There has to be something we can do to change her mind. I mean, maybe I could talk to Lydia and see if she would - "

"Don't even think about it," Cassie warns her, "I can't stand the thought of that girl fighting my corner after I..." she trails off, shaking her head, "Just leave her out of it OK? It's not her fault."

"OK," Rachel hastens to reassure her. "But you can't... you can't work in a strip club, Cassie, and this isn't about me being judgemental, or possessive. I just... it would kill me to see you become even more - "

"Bitter and twisted?" Cassie supplies helpfully, and Rachel offers her a wry smile.

"I was going to say disillusioned." She strokes her thumb over Cassie's wrist. "Just promise me you'll keep trying, OK? But for something that's going to make you feel better about yourself, not worse."

"Well, you already made me miss my audition," Cassie points out, and Rachel grins.

"Maybe you could show it to me sometime?"

"I like the way you think, Schwimmer," Cassie says, with a lascivious wink, "But just... not tonight, OK? I'm beat," she confesses, stifling a yawn.

"Me, too," Rachel says softly, and Cassie gestures for her to roll over before she flicks off the light. Rachel's heart-rate picks up when Cassie curls into her side, nuzzling into the hollow where her neck meets her shoulder. She presses a kiss against Rachel's temple and then gently brushes her hair to one side, and Rachel snuggles into her embrace with a happy sigh. This morning, she wasn't sure if she would ever get to do this again, and now she's determined to savour every second of it. Her eyelids flutter closed, and she clasps Cassie's hand against her chest, letting the steady rhythm of her breathing lull her into a contented doze. She loses herself in the sensation of Cassie's stomach rising and falling against her back; the reassuring weight of her arm around her waist, and wishes she could stay like this forever.

"I love you," Cassie whispers into her ear, and this time, Rachel knows she's not imagining it. She instinctively turns towards her, and Cassie's lips are covering hers before her radiant smile even has chance to fully blossom. She tangles one hand in Cassie's hair and lets the other lie limply against the pillow, but she's not even aware of the pain anymore.

* * *

When she flexes her hand the following morning, trying to curl her fingers into a loose fist, Rachel resigns herself to the fact that it's going to take a while to heal. When Cassie offers to help with her morning bath in a tone that suggests she wants to do a whole lot more than just scrub her back, it doesn't take long for Rachel's libido to triumph over her pride. Right now, she isn't sure if Cassie's shampooing her hair or demonstrating her hitherto undiscovered aptitude for Indian head massages, but either way, Belinda Carlisle was right - Heaven really is a place on Earth.

"Mmmm," Rachel sinks into the fragrant bubbles and reclines against Cassie's chest, smiling a little when she feels Cassie's nipples straining against her back. She's obviously not the only one relishing every second of this, and it's an effort not to moan when Cassie's hands move to expertly knead her shoulders.

"Someone should hire us to do a commercial for tights," Cassie observes, and Rachel cranks open one of her eyes, giggling at the sight of Cassie's impossibly long legs entwined with hers.

"I don't think One Million Moms would approve, somehow," she counters, sliding her toes over Cassie's calf and revelling in the softness of her skin. Their game of footsie quickly descends into an all-out war, and Rachel squeals when Cassie wraps her legs around her waist, trapping her in place while she mercilessly tickles her.

"Stop it! Please," she begs, through peals of hysterical laughter, and Cassie finally capitulates, pressing a kiss against her shoulder and brushing her lips over the column of her neck. Rachel feels a shiver run down her spine, despite the warmth of the water, and when Cassie leans forward to retrieve the shower head, anchoring her hand low against Rachel's stomach, she has to purse her lips to try and contain the pang of arousal that shoots straight to her core.

"OK, let's get you rinsed off," Cassie proclaims, and Rachel leans back in readiness, gripping the side of the tub with her left hand.

"Come on, Schwimmer, I know you're more flexible than that," Cassie berates her, "You're going to get soap in your eyes."

"I can't move!" Rachel protests, because Cassie's bath tub definitely wasn't designed for two people, and even though being sandwiched between Cassie's legs is the stuff of fantasy, it doesn't exactly give her room to manoeuvre.

"Are you calling me fat?" Cassie demands, and Rachel snorts with amusement. She can feel Cassie's stomach shaking with laughter, too, and she traces her fingertips over Cassie's thigh, watching her muscles quiver in response. The motion of her hand causes the water to lap around them, and she's pretty sure she's never been this relaxed in her life.

"OK, come here." Cassie sits up a little, easing Rachel into an upright position, and then she kneels behind her. "Now tilt your head back and keep your eyes closed."

"Yes, Ma'am," Rachel retorts, but they're both smiling.

Cassie gently lifts her chin upwards, and she's so attentive, running her hand through Rachel's hair while she rinses out the suds, smoothing her fingers over Rachel's eyebrows to ensure none of the shampoo gets into her eyes, Rachel wishes more people could see her like this... minus the nudity, of course. She isn't expecting the kiss, and her eyelids flutter open when Cassie closes the distance between them. Cassie's mouth moves against hers in a rhythm that's becoming welcomingly familiar, but it still makes her dizzy with pleasure, and Rachel doesn't even realise what Cassie's planning to do until she turns the shower head on her breasts. She gasps at the sensation of the warm water pounding against her nipples, and it's like a lightning bolt to the groin.

"Cassie - " she tries to protest, but it's not easy when her whole body's convulsing with pleasure.

"Come on, Schwimmer, don't tell me you've never put your power shower to good use," Cassie teases her. She lies back against the tub, opening her arms, and Rachel sinks into them, finding herself cocooned between Cassie's legs again. Cassie hooks her ankle around Rachel's foot, edging it upwards until it's resting against the side of the bath, and for a second, Rachel feels completely exposed, but then Cassie directs the pulsating spray between her legs, and it hits exactly the right spot, at exactly the right angle, and it isn't long before she's past the point of caring. She throws her head back against Cassie's shoulder, letting out a guttural moan, and when Cassie starts flicking a finger over her nipple, she nearly bucks out of the water completely. At some point, she realises that she's probably crushing Cassie, and she tries to shift her body weight, but Cassie just wraps an arm around her waist and holds her close, and it only takes a matter of seconds before she comes apart with a ragged cry. As per usual, Cassie doesn't even give her time to collect herself, she just replaces the shower head with her hand, letting her fingers delve into the one place that the water couldn't reach.

"Thank you," she murmurs, and Rachel's momentarily thrown out of the moment when she hears the tremor in her voice.

"For what?" she asks softly, letting out a stuttering gasp when Cassie's fingers curl inside of her.

"For coming back," Cassie tells her, and Rachel realises, then, that the droplets of moisture chorusing down her shoulders aren't from the bath.

"Oh, Cassie," she whispers, and suddenly, it doesn't feel like they're close enough. She tugs gently on Cassie's hand, and with no small measure of difficulty, somehow manages to turn to face her. The look of unfettered love on Cassie's face makes something inside of her ache, and she throws her arms around Cassie's neck, pulling her into a fierce embrace. She doesn't care that her fingers are out of commission, or that she's supposed to be in class in an hour... all she cares about is convincing Cassie that she's never going to leave her again.


	17. Chapter 17

_**I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to update! Work's been a bitch and I got waylaid writing a post-ep for 'Wonderful,' because that episode was everything I could have hoped for and more (extended sex scene notwithstanding). It's great to see so many new people discovering the lure of JulyBerry, and thank you to each and every one of you who has taken the time to comment on this story, whether it be to sing my praises, or nag me to update. Please don't think I'm being complacent if I don't reply to your reviews - I'm just so pushed for time lately, I barely get chance to write, let alone anything else. They really do mean the world to me, though, and they stop me from crawling into bed and conking out as soon as I get home. **_

_**Just for the record, I didn't die. And a belated 'Happy Birthday' to the reviewer who requested a new chapter as a present.**_

_**I just hope it's worth the wait. I have a severe case of performance anxiety now. **_

_**I've got some time off again next week, so hopefully I'll be able to wrap up this story then (and I'm already planning a new one). **_

_**PS: I think Cassie unveiling herself as a hopeless romantic with that performance of 'Uptight (Everything's Alright)' has turned me into a cheesemeister. This chapter got away from me and ended up going in a direction even *I* didn't see coming, and I really hope it doesn't make your teeth hurt. I'm not going to read it back again, because I'll probably have one of those "what the hell were you thinking?!" moments, and I promised I'd update today. So, without further ado...**_

* * *

Cassie spends most evenings trying to convince herself that Rachel's place is strictly off-limits. For a start, it's about fifty minutes out of her way, and she can't deal with that kind of commute when she's feeling horny. Schwimmer's lumpy, threadbare couch might have looked appealing when she was sitting on months of pent-up sexual frustration and her self-control was in short supply, but it's not an experience she intends to repeat (and she still hasn't forgiven Kurt for barging in on them). Besides, it's a lot easier for Rachel to stop by her place on her way back from NYADA, and Cassie always makes it worth her while. She spends two weeks catering to Schwimmer's every whim while her hand heals. She cooks - hell, she even _cleans - _and she tries to make sure Schwimmer doesn't stay up too late on a school night.

It's hard, though, when Rachel's too busy studying to come over (Cassie still cringes when she realises she's officially seeing someone young enough to have _homework_). It feels like something's missing when she gets back from another torturous dance lesson and Schwimmer isn't there to regale her with the latest Broadway gossip, or sing along with the stereo while she helps to make dinner. Cassie hates feeling bored, and restless, and she has to force herself not to hot-foot it to the nearest liquor store to help pass the time.

Still, it's pathetic to pine for someone who's already a permanent fixture in her life, and Cassie's determined not to turn up at Rachel's apartment like some kind of sad sap (even if she _is_ perpetually miserable when Rachel's not around). She tells herself that she's never going to feel at ease in a place where they've forsaken doors in favour of drapes; and that she may be an exhibitionist, but she draws the line at having her sexual escapades aired in surround sound. She contemplates the likelihood of contracting scabies from the depressing assortment of second-hand furniture, or discovering that Schwimmer's bed was purchased from the local flea market instead of IKEA... and those bleak, brick walls would put a dampener on anyone's mood.

Still, when Rachel blows her off for three nights in a row – and she sounds fucking miserable about it – Cassie's resolve starts to weaken. She catches herself singing, _"Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya tomorrow, you're only a day away..."_ in the shower, and she knows she's finally reached breaking point.

She'll never forget Schwimmer's reaction the first time she voluntarily makes the trek out to Bushwick. Rachel looks thrilled, even though it's past 10pm, and she leaps into Cassie's arms like they're in the opening montage of _Love Actually._ She seems more than happy to reciprocate Cassie's amorous greeting, but when Cassie kicks things up a notch, reaching for the waistband of her pyjama pants, Rachel starts to squirm.

"You have no idea how badly I want this," Rachel tells her between breathless kisses, and her voice cracks on the last syllable as if to emphasise her point, "But it's... it's that time of the month for me," she quietly confesses, and when she pulls back, she's blushing to the roots of her hair.

"Oh, well, then," Cassie says, and then she pretends to turn on her heel and make a beeline for the door. She quickly learns not to joke around when Schwimmer's feeling sensitive, though, because Rachel's luminous expression instantly clouds over.

"Hey," Cassie gently chastises her, "I thought we were past this." She reaches for Rachel's hand – which is back to being fully functional, thank God - and tugs her into another hug. "I know it must have been all kinds of awkward growing up with two gay dads, but it's your period, Schwimmer, not the Ebola virus. You don't have to quarantine yourself."

Rachel giggles into her shoulder. "It just... doesn't really lend itself to romance."

"Yeah, well, neither does telling me that you'd rather spend the evening reading 'The Stage Life of Props.'"

"I'm sorry," Rachel says sweetly, sounding genuinely contrite.

"It's OK," Cassie reassures her. "I just... missed you, that's all," she mutters into Schwimmer's hair, because it's easier to mumble it than say it out loud.

Rachel beams up at her, and Kurt chooses that moment to flounce into the living room. He looks like he's trying not to laugh, and Cassie realises she probably looks every bit as loved-up as Schwimmer does, so she gives him the side-eye until he scurries back to his room.

They curl up on the couch together and watch _Project Runway_, and when Rachel's head lolls sleepily against her shoulder, Cassie brushes her hair away from her face and presses a kiss against her forehead, wondering why she fought this for so long.

"Careful, Miss July, you're starting to look like you actually want to be here," Kurt teases from somewhere in the shadows, and Cassie jumps a mile, barely resisting the urge to tell him to shut the hell up when Rachel stirs in her arms. She smooths her fingers through Rachel's hair, biting her lip to keep from smiling when Schwimmer makes a contented little mewling noise and nuzzles into her shoulder. Cassie waits a few moments, until she's sure that Rachel's dead to the world, and then she turns her attention to Kurt.

"OK, let's get one thing straight – no pun intended," she says, with a thin-lipped smile, "You're never going to be intimidating enough to pull off the 'if you break her heart, I'll break your legs' speech, so how about you spare yourself the embarrassment, OK?" Cassie concludes, and the quietness of her tone doesn't do anything to detract from its menacing quality.

"Whoa, there, tiger!" Kurt retorts, but he doesn't back away, he just flops gracefully onto a nearby chair. "Look, I'm not going to lie, I thought you _were_ just using and abusing her at first, but then I saw the look on your face when you told her it was over, and it was obvious you didn't want it to be."

Cassie just stares at him intently, because she isn't about to have a heart-to-heart with Schwimmer's outstandingly gay BFF.

"If it's any consolation, I used to think she was an obnoxious megalomaniac, too," Kurt confesses, with a nostalgic smile, "But then I got to know her, and I realised all she had to cling to was her ambition. The girls in high school were awful to her, but no matter how many times they tried to tear her down, she would always get right back up again. At some point you have to start admiring her for that."

"Oh, believe me, I know," Cassie says, with a rueful laugh. She traces her fingers over Rachel's hand, watching her eyelids flutter lightly in response. "She's a tough nut to crack."

"But you wanted to break her," Kurt observes, and Cassie eyes him warily. "And you almost did," he informs her sombrely, "She was on the verge of giving up when I first got here. She was sobbing her heart out in Central Park, telling me that you were some kind of monster."

Cassie tries not to flinch, forcing herself to meet Kurt's attentive gaze.

"Is there a point to this, or are you just trying to put me on a guilt trip?" she counters icily.

Kurt hesitates for a moment, looking thoughtful. "People hurled insults at her for years, but she never lost faith in her talent; she never let it faze her. She was the best singer in Glee Club, and she made damn sure we all knew it," Kurt says wryly, and he still looks a little sour about it. "Then she enrols at NYADA, and within the space of a few lessons, you achieved the impossible. You made Rachel Barbra Berry doubt her star potential."

"No, I didn't," Cassie observes with a snort of incredulous laughter, shaking her head.

"Are you kidding me? She used to come home and practice the same steps for _hours_. She was mortified when you told her she wasn't sexy. I should have known she was into you back then." Kurt starts to laugh a little. "She even put together a playlist to gear up for your lessons: 'Titanium,' 'Who Says?' 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot,' 'Fighter.'"

Cassie stares at her lap, hugging Rachel a little tighter.

"My point is, Rachel survived high school because she always knew that she was better than us, but when she looks at you, she sees her _equal;_ someone who challenges her in ways that we never could. That's why you get under her skin so much. Because you're two sides of the same coin. Because you understand how that crazy mind of hers works."

"I thought you were majoring in musical theatre; not psychology?" Cassie jokes, but there's an edge to her tone.

"I just say it like I see it," Kurt counters, with a good-natured shrug.

"And what exactly _are_ you trying to say, Kurt?" Cassie demands, pursing her lips, "That I'm no better than the bitches who used to rain on her parade?"

"No, you idiot, I'm saying that you two are _made_ for each other," he says, rolling his eyes. "I've watched Rachel moon over a lot of guys, but I've never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at you."

Kurt just leans back in his chair, waiting for his bombshell to settle in the dust, and Cassie can't help but smile at him.

"I didn't want to _break _her," she tells him quietly. "That was never my intention. I just wanted her to realise that the reality of life on Broadway is a far cry from being a high school sensation. She seemed so self-assured, I thought she'd spent her whole life sitting in an ivory tower, with everyone falling at her feet. I thought she needed someone to bring her back down to Earth."

"No," Kurt says amiably, "She was just trying to crawl out of the abyss. We all were. Lima's the kind of town where talent is resented, not appreciated."

"I... I didn't know," she murmurs, but maybe she should have, because Schwimmer's back-story is starting to sound hauntingly familiar.

"Well, Rachel's a good actress," Kurt tells her kindly. "That's why she's here, after all."

Cassie takes a deep breath, regarding Kurt earnestly.

"Look, I know this is probably like watching Bambi run headlong towards the hunters, but I'm not going to hurt her, OK? Not anymore."

"I know," Kurt reassures her, and Cassie raises an eyebrow when he leans across the space between them to pat her on the knee. "You saw 'Run Joey Run,' and you're still here," he reminds her, with a twinkle in his eyes, "So it must be true love."

"Oh my God, you showed her that?" Rachel exclaims out of nowhere, and Cassie has to stifle a cry of surprise when Schwimmer sits bolt upright, nearly giving her a heart attack in the process.

"Jesus Christ," she curses, and once Kurt recovers from the shock, he regards Rachel suspiciously.

"Have you been eavesdropping on us this whole time?"

Rachel doesn't even bother gracing him with a reply, she just glares at Kurt until his eyes widen to comical proportions.

"Kurt..._ why?_ Why would you do that to me?" she wails, and Cassie's so grateful to escape from the gravity of the previous conversation, she can't help but crease up laughing. She impulsively jumps to her feet, throwing out her arms beseechingly.

"_Daddy, please don't! It wasn't his fault, he means so much to meeeeee..."_ she sings, doing an uncannily accurate impersonation of Rachel's performance.

Rachel groans, hiding behind a cushion, and Kurt's high-pitched laugher echoes around the apartment.

"_Daddy, please don't! We're gonna get married, just you wait and seeeeee..."_ Cassie prises the cushion out of Rachel's hands, forcing her to watch as she continues her spoof, complete with exaggerated facial expressions and dramatic hand gestures. Schwimmer's glowing with a mixture of delight and embarrassment, and Cassie doesn't let up until they're all laughing hysterically. Then she sinks back down onto the sofa, clutching her stomach.

"So you thought I was a monster, huh?" she teases, and although she doesn't really have the right to feel affronted, it still stings a little.

"A really hot monster," Rachel hastens to amend, and Cassie suddenly finds herself on the receiving end of an impassioned kiss. She can't help but reciprocate, but she laughs when she hears Kurt making gagging sounds in the background.

"OK, I'm leaving now," Kurt proclaims. "You two are officially cute enough to make me nauseous."

Rachel kisses Cassie one last time, and then turns to Kurt with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "He's just jealous because all he has to curl up with at night is Bruce," she says conspiratorially.

"Bruce?" Cassie echoes, and her brow furrows in confusion when Kurt starts shaking his head violently.

"Rachel, no. Don't you dare!" he exclaims, and Cassie looks on in perplexed amusement as they both race towards Kurt's bedroom, with Kurt squawking in outrage and Rachel laughing manically as she prepares to exact her revenge.

"Cassie, meet Bruce..." Rachel calls, even though Kurt's still hollering his protests, and Cassie catches the disembodied arm mid-flight, staring at it in faintly-veiled disbelief. She catches a whiff of cologne, and then starts cackling with laughter.

"Oh, Twinkle Toes, that's just _tragic_," she laments, and Kurt saunters over to her, snatching Bruce out of her hands and cradling him protectively against his chest. "_Lars & The Real Boy_ kinds of tragic," she adds teasingly, and Rachel dissolves into fits of laughter.

"Yeah, that's right!" Kurt exclaims defensively. "Laugh it up. I'm glad you find my chronic loneliness so amusing."

"So you didn't reconcile with that guy from 'Grease?'" Cassie asks him sympathetically.

Kurt shakes his head sadly, and Cassie gives his shoulder a conciliatory squeeze.

"Well, I hope it works out with him," she says sincerely, and Kurt just stares at her for a moment.

"T – thank you, Miss July," he stutters, and Cassie starts to laugh.

"For the record, I don't answer to Miss July anymore," she informs him with a wry smile, "And you've already called me an idiot, so I think it's safe to say we're on a first-name basis now."

Cassie pretends not to notice when Kurt turns to Rachel and mouths, _"oh my God, what did you DO __to her?"_

* * *

Cassie's not so reluctant to stay over at Château de Homo after that, and she has to admit, there's a certain charm to be found amongst all the clutter, because Rachel's put her stamp on this cheerless place, and tried to turn it into something resembling a home, and even though the water runs cold after twenty minutes and the heating barely cuts through the draught, it still feels a hell of a lot cosier than Cassie's loft... and she gets a perverse kick from Twinkle Toes shrieking like a girl and covering his eyes at the sight of them sharing some body heat.

Speaking of which... Schwimmer seems intent on parading her around like some kind of Trophy Wife, as if she's desperate to prove to Kurt (and several unwitting passers-by) that they're really "an item." It's kind of adorable, how Rachel seems so genuinely delighted - and _proud_ - to be dating her, and Cassie can handle the impromptu PDAs (especially when they culminate in her convincing Schwimmer that alleyways aren't always synonymous with gropey perverts who don't know how to take no for an answer). Making conversation with Kurt over breakfast, on the other hand... well, suffice it to say, she never pictured Rachel's room-mate seeing her in all of her freshly-fucked glory, with a worse case of bed hair than that creepy kid from 'The Ring.'

If it was summer time, Cassie wouldn't think twice about darting to the bathroom in her underwear, but she can't brave the biting cold without reinforcements, which is how Kurt managed to catch her wearing a pair of Schwimmer's fleecy pyjamas (emblazoned with a picture of Frosty The Fucking Snowman and the motto _'There's Snow Place Like Home,' _no less). Needless to say, he found it hilarious, and if Cassie wasn't half asleep, she would have come up with a witty retort that involved threats of castration and improving Kurt's vocal range by another couple of octaves. As it was, all she could manage to say was, "Fuck off."

Still, it doesn't feel awkward anymore, because they both roll their eyes when Rachel starts her vocal warm-ups in the shower, and Cassie's become adept at wheedling all kinds of embarrassing stories out of Kurt (like the fact that Schwimmer made her boyfriend wait _two years_ before she slept with him and probably gave him the worse case of blue balls in recorded history). Kurt begs her to give him the uncensored story behind her "Bloody Mary-fuelled panic attack at 30,000 feet," and he laughs his ass off when she tells him she went "full-on Kristen-Wigg-in-Bridesmaids" on the flight attendants. He eventually has the gumption to ask her about her career, and what motivated her meltdown, and because there isn't a trace of judgement in his expression, she surprises herself by actually telling him the truth.

She should feel self-conscious, hanging out with kids who're a decade and a half younger than her, but when she finds herself sandwiched between Kurt and Rachel on the couch, she doesn't feel past her prime. Not at all. They bitch their way through trashy reality TV shows and sing their way through every musical Rachel owns (and Schwimmer's collection puts Cassie's to shame), and even though she would never admit it out loud, she loves being an adopted member of this all-singing, all-dancing household, where it's perfectly natural to stage impromptu performances in the middle of the living room. They can talk Broadway for hours, and even though Cassie gets a little quiet when Rachel and Kurt start listing all the roles they're going to audition for, and all the parts they hope to play, her inner theatre geek has never been more content.

One night, they're watching 'Chicago' together, bundled up under a blanket, and Kurt gives her a gentle nudge, tilting his head towards Rachel. Cassie surreptitiously glances to her side, and sees Schwimmer sniffing the corner of the blanket like an overgrown toddler. She might as well be sucking her thumb. She knows Kurt's waiting for her to make some kind of scathing remark, but truth be told, her heart kind of melts at the sight.

"C'mere," she murmurs, opening her arms, and Rachel glances up at her with a radiant smile, snuggling into her embrace. Cassie rests her cheek on the crown of Schwimmer's head, and throws some popcorn at Kurt when he rolls his eyes at them.

"Just shut up and get us a refill," she commands, holding up their empty glasses, and Kurt feigns offence.

"It's like working at the Lima Bean all over again," he snipes, hitting pause on the remote before he clambers to his feet.

Cassie waits until he's out of the room, and then dips her head, drawing Rachel into a loving kiss that quickly escalates when Schwimmer responds with a little more enthusiasm than she expected. When Kurt comes back, they're no-where to be found.

* * *

Word of mouth finally seems to be working in Cassie's favour, and her dance classes are rapidly gaining in popularity. She's running ten sessions a week now, spanning a host of different disciplines, but even her so-called "advanced" students aren't a patch on the kids at NYADA, and she spends most of her time biting her tongue and reminding herself that these people aren't _obligated_ to keep coming back, and they're not going to pay her extortionate tuition fees if she tells them the truth – namely, that she'd rather be anywhere but here. Still, at least devising lesson plans gives her something to do during the day, and when she performs a routine, they all look at her like they're witnessing the Second Coming, so it's good for her ego, if nothing else.

She doesn't have money to burn, but at least she can afford to take Schwimmer out every once in a while, so she gives her the obligatory tour of the city. They do the Empire State Building, and the Bowery Ballroom, and they manage to make it to the Rockefeller Center before the ice rink closes for spring season. Cassie's not exactly Sasha Cohen, but she's been skating since she was a kid, and when she sees Schwimmer step gingerly onto the ice, with all the confidence of a newborn calf trying to find its footing, she can't help but delight in her misery. While Schwimmer's clutching the barriers convulsively and inching her way around the rink at a snail's pace, Cassie can't resist lapping her a couple of times, drawing a few admiring glances as she weaves her way in and out of the tourists. She waves at Rachel as she speed-skates past her – backwards – and then she attempts a couple of jumps, rounding them off with a dizzying spin. Rachel looks far from impressed, so Cassie ploughs towards her, stopping so abruptly she sends a spray of ice flying in her direction. Schwimmer actually _screams,_ but at least now she's smiling.

"Come on, Schwimmer, I didn't pay a small fortune so you could treat this like a spectator sport." She holds out her hands, and Rachel hesitantly lets go of the barrier, letting out a surprised squeal when she promptly loses her balance. Cassie holds her close, gripping her waist until she finds her footing again, and now they're both laughing.

"Just trust me, OK? I'm not gonna let you fall." Cassie reaches for Rachel's hands again, towing her away from the safety of the perimeter, and Rachel's anxious expression slowly gives way to a beaming smile.

"You need to bend your knees a little more, keep your feet turned out, and make sure you always bring them back together again. Step and glide," Cassie encourages her, and it's adorable, the way Rachel bites her lip and screws her face up in concentration. Schwimmer's balance is still all over the place, but Cassie manages to counteract the wobbling and keep them both upright, until Rachel's grip starts to feel less vice-like and she's a lot steadier on her feet. On their forth go round, Cassie lets go of Schwimmer's hand without any warning, and Rachel shrieks and flounders for a moment, but then she collects herself and manages to match Cassie's leisurely pace, holding out her arms like a kid playing aeroplane.

Cassie speeds up a little, and Rachel gives her a gentle shove when she finally catches up to her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"That was mean," she observes, and Cassie gives her an affectionate squeeze.

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, that's kind of my thing."

Rachel just smiles up at her, all sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, and Cassie's so enchanted, she doesn't notice that they're about to collide with a kid who's knee-high to a grasshopper until someone shouts at them to watch out. Cassie sees the little girl staring up at them in terror, but she clearly doesn't have the ability to move out of the way, so Cassie has no choice but to veer sharply to the right. Rachel flails next to her, clinging to the lapels of her coat, and the next thing Cassie knows, she's staring up at the overcast sky with Schwimmer lying in a heap on top of her.

"Fuck me," she grunts, and this is why she always hated those couples who were so caught up in each other, they were oblivious to everything else.

"Maybe later," Rachel teases, "Although I have to admit, it is nice being on top for a change."

"That's not funny," Cassie wheezes, and Rachel reaches out, gently stroking her cheek.

"Are you OK?" she asks, and her free hand is still clamped over her mouth. Cassie isn't sure if she's horror-stricken, or trying to hide her amusement.

"Never better," Cassie says, and the funny thing is, she actually means it. Her shoulders start shaking with mirth, and it doesn't take long before Rachel joins in. They're laughing so hard, it takes them three attempts to clamber back to their feet again, and Rachel briefly glances around before kissing Cassie lightly on the mouth.

"I'm so sorry, you guys," an overweight man in his early thirties says as he hesitantly approaches them, and Cassie glances down at the wide-eyed urchin clinging to his leg, "She just kind of got away from me."

"Don't worry about it. No harm done," she assures him, smiling down at the little girl, who looks like a miniature version of Schwimmer, with soulful brown eyes and a nose her family are probably fervently hoping she'll grow into.

"Emma, sweetie, I think we should go now," he announces regretfully, "Daddy isn't cut out for this, and I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Cassie watches the little girl's face fall, and waits for the inevitable temper tantrum. To her surprise, the kid doesn't even whine, she just nods resignedly, reaching for her Dad's hand.

"I've been promising to bring her here for months," he says, with a pained smile, and he looks like he hates himself for letting her down.

"Hey, Emma," Rachel says softly, crouching down until she's at eye level with her pint-sized doppelgänger, "I'm Rachel, and this is my friend, Cassie," she informs her, in a tone that she clearly reserves for small children and puppies.

"Her _special_ friend, Cassie," Cassie interjects with a wicked grin, and Rachel elbows her in the shin.

"If your Daddy doesn't mind, we'd be happy for you to come skating with us."

"Yes, please!" The little girl's melancholy expression instantly brightens, and she nods vigorously.

"Schwimmer..." Cassie growls, but Rachel turns to look at her with a pleading expression, making it clear that saying 'no' isn't an option. And that's the problem, really, now she's finally copped to having _feelings_ for Schwimmer, Rachel seems to think it gives her a mandate to emotionally blackmail her.

Cassie swallows a sigh and paints on a smile, turning her attention to Emma's Dad. "Apparently my girlfriend wants to kidnap your daughter," she informs him, and she's half-hoping that he'll turn out to be some Republican homophobe who would rather set himself on fire than let them run amok with his nearest and dearest. "I don't mind running through the basics with her, if it's OK with you?"

"Of course it's OK! It'll make her day! Thank you so much," he says, and he looks so pathetically grateful, Cassie can't help but warm to him.

"We'll try not to mow her down this time," she says wryly, and he laughs, giving Emma an encouraging push towards them.

"Go on, honey. I'll watch you from over here, OK?"

Schwimmer holds out her hand, and Emma smiles at her shyly. Then she scoots straight past her, and reaches for Cassie's instead.

"Oh, burn!" Cassie exclaims, laughing delightedly. "The kid clearly knows which side her bread is buttered." Still, she's grateful that the midget is wearing gloves, because the thought of clutching those sticky little fingers makes her break out in hives.

Rachel rolls her eyes, but she obviously finds the sight of Cassie holding hands with a kindergartner more than a little comical, judging from the shit-eating grin on her face.

"Come on, Munchkin, let's go," Cassie says, but then she realises she's probably going to dislocate the kid's arm if she takes off at her usual speed. "I don't know how to teach a four-year-old, Schwimmer," she hisses, and Rachel grins, reaching for Emma's other hand.

"I don't think your usual methods will work. Not unless you want to traumatise her for life," Rachel retorts, sticking her tongue out when Cassie glares at her.

"Did you see me when I first started, Emma?" Rachel asks her amiably. "I couldn't even stand up without holding onto the railing, but Cassie showed me what to do and now I can skate all by myself."

"While doing a perfect imitation of a drunk tightrope walker," Cassie mutters under her breath, and Emma giggles, even though she couldn't possibly have understood the analogy. Still, the kid's obviously taken a shine to her, and Cassie winks at her conspiratorially. Then she sees the look on Schwimmer's face, and hastily clears her throat.

Cassie expects Emma to try her patience within a matter of minutes, but she turns out to be a natural, and she takes to the ice like a duck to water. Cassie can't help but be impressed by her progress, and she ruffles Emma's hair affectionately.

"Don't tell Rachel I said this, but you're a lot better than she is," she whispers into the little girl's ear, and Emma bursts into peals of laughter again.

Rachel squints at her suspiciously, but then she turns to face Emma with an encouraging smile. "OK, Cassie's going to go and stand over there, and then I'm going to let go of your hand, and I want to see if you can skate all the way over to her, OK?"

"OK," Emma readily agrees, waving to get her Dad's attention.

"I'm going to be right next to you the whole time," Rachel assures her, "So don't worry about falling over. I promise I'll catch you."

"If you're lucky," Cassie murmurs, but when Emma begins tottering towards her, she can't help but will her on.

"That's it, sweetie," she calls encouragingly, "Just a little bit further!"

She kneels down, and when Emma somehow manages to go the whole hog without faltering, she scoops her up, spinning her around in a dizzying circle until she's squealing and laughing. Her Dad looks like he's about to have a heart attack, though, so Cassie sheepishly sets her back down again, shooting him an apologetic grin.

"That was fun, huh?" she asks, and Emma grins at her, nodding enthusiastically.

"Can we do it again?" she pleads, and Cassie casts a quick look at Schwimmer, who looks entirely too amused for her own good.

"One more time," she capitulates, "And then we'll see if you can skate all the way back to your Dad, OK?"

Emma looks so crestfallen when they move to leave, Cassie gestures for Rachel to go on ahead and then impulsively takes her on a whirlwind tour, positioning the little girl in front of her and holding both of her hands while she skates at a break-neck pace around the entire rink. When they skid to a halt by the barriers, Emma looks deliriously happy, and her Dad couldn't be any more effusive in his thanks.

"Honestly, it was our pleasure," Rachel tells him, and she reaches for Cassie's hand, threading their fingers together.

Cassie waves goodbye (and good riddance) to Emma, and her eyes widen when the kid launches herself at her, clinging to her legs like a limpet.

"Bye, Cassie," she says, looking up at her with misty eyes, and Cassie awkwardly pats her head, throwing a look in Rachel's direction that patently says, _"get her off of me. Now." _

"Her Mom passed away last month and she took it pretty hard," Emma's Dad hastens to explain, giving an embarrassed laugh. "She can be a little clingy. I'm sorry." He gently prises Emma away, and Cassie suddenly feels like she has a boulder lodged in her throat.

"Don't worry about it," she manages to say, and she squeezes Emma's shoulder, hastily turning away.

"This is all your fault," she rants at Rachel, as soon as they're out of ear shot. "You should have just walked away like a normal person, but no, you just had to stick your nose in where it didn't belong. Now that kid thinks I'm her Fairy Fucking Godmother, which is pretty ironic, because I don't even _like_ kids. And you think her father could've told us that she had attachment issues _before_ he palmed her off on us."

"Cassie, I didn't know - "

"Wait there," Cassie barks, and then she turns on her heel, sprinting in the opposite direction. It takes her five minutes to track them down, but she finally sees Emma's father amongst the crowd. She walks up behind them, tapping Emma lightly on the shoulder.

"Cassie!" she exclaims, breaking into a beaming smile, which Cassie readily returns.

"Do you have a pen and paper?" she asks Emma's Dad, and he regards her inquisitively, reaching into his jacket pocket and handing her an old receipt and a biro.

"OK," she tells Emma, "I'm going to write my number on this piece of paper, and if you ever want to go ice-skating again, you tell your Dad to give me a call, OK?" she informs her, and Emma hugs the piece of paper to her chest, nodding her understanding. "I do dancing, too," she informs them, "Just for the record."

"Cassie, I don't know what to say. Thank you so much," he exclaims, and Jesus Christ, now he's hugging her, too. She tries not to recoil from his embrace, but she can't help shrugging away from him at the first available opportunity.

"You're welcome," she says stiffly, and then she gestures to the thoroughfare. "I have to go now, though, OK?"

"Of course," he assures her, holding out his hand, "I'm Jerry, by the way."

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Jerry." She leans down, giving Emma a perfunctory hug. "And I'll see you again soon, shrimp."

She turns around, and her heart sinks when she sees Rachel watching her from across the street. Schwimmer looks like she's about to cry, and Cassie ducks her head when she mentally replays what she just said to her.

"Look, I'm sorry, OK?" she tells Rachel, as soon as she's within hearing distance, "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I just - "

"You don't have to explain," Rachel hastily interjects, reaching for her hand, "I get it. You miss your Mom."

Cassie nods, biting her lip, and Rachel tugs her into a nearby alleyway, drawing her into a warm embrace.

"That was really nice, what you just did."

Cassie kisses her tenderly on the forehead. "Just don't tell anyone, OK? You'll ruin my reputation."

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," Rachel reassures her, giving her another quick peck on the lips before they link arms and head back to the subway. Cassie sneaks a glance at Schwimmer, and narrows her eyes when she sees Rachel smiling softly to herself.

"Those better not be white picket fences in your eyes, Schwimmer," she tells her warningly, and Rachel bursts out laughing.

"Of course not! _'It's just a little crush,'"_ she sings teasingly, and Cassie grins, because they both know that's not true.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Well, I was obviously too ambitious in thinking I could wrap up this fic in five days. I'm getting so much mileage out of these two, this may turn into the never-ending story, and I don't want to rush to the finish line without doing justice to all of the crazy ideas that keep popping into my head (usually at the most inopportune moments). This is the longest chapter to date, though, and I had an absolute blast writing it - although I fear I may have ventured into crack!fic territory *cackles with laughter.* I hope you all enjoy it!**_

_**Thank you to everyone who took the time to comment on the previous chapter. As always, I cherish all of your reviews.**_

* * *

"_My baby don't mess around, because she loves me so, and this I know for sure,"_ Cassie sings, swaying her hips to the beat as she retrieves a yoghurt from the refrigerator. She gracefully kicks the door shut, and then throws her spoon up in the air, twirling around before she catches it again. She grins indulgently as she watches Rachel dance the funky chicken around the dining table, and Schwimmer lets out a little yelp when Cassie moves past her, opting to tap out the rhythm on her ass instead of clapping along with the track. They dance around the kitchen like Uma Thurman and John Travolta in _Pulp Fiction_, pulling out every cheesy dance move they can think of, and then Cassie twirls Rachel around until she's doubled-over with breathless laughter.

"_Don't want to meet your mama, just want to make you cum-ma,"_ Cassie sings mischievously into Schwimmer's ear, pulling her close and grinding against her ass, and Kurt chooses that moment to walk into the kitchen, tutting his disapproval.

"The next time you two plan on going at it like a pair of Energizer bunnies, I would appreciate it if you could give me some advance warning so I can vacate the building first."

Cassie laughs when a bleary-eyed Kurt slams down the kettle, muttering something about cats in heat as he stirs his cup of coffee. She reaches out to ruffle his perfectly coiffed hair, just to piss him off even more.

"_Shake it, shake, shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture,"_ she counters unrepentantly, and she and Rachel shimmy into Kurt's personal space, wiggling their asses until he finally cracks a smile.

"We were going to head back to my place, but we got a little... sidetracked," Cassie informs him, with a sparkle in her eyes. "Sorry," she adds, without the faintest hint of remorse.

"We didn't mean to infringe on your beauty sleep, Kurt," Rachel assures him regretfully, "We'll try to be more considerate next time."

"Don't give him false hope, Schwimmer," Cassie says, with a snort of laughter, "You can't do anything quietly."

Rachel pokes her in the ribs, and Cassie hands her a glass of orange juice as a peace-offering, chucking her affectionately under the chin.

"You were never that vocal when you were holed away in Finn's room," Kurt teases Rachel, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Cassie, "Not unless you were forcing him to sing a duet with you, anyway."

"That was probably her idea of foreplay," Cassie counters, winking at Rachel as she plucks an apple out of the fruit bowl.

Kurt's shoulders start shaking with repressed laughter, and Cassie watches the tips of Rachel's ears turn pink.

"Finn was a gentleman. He didn't - "

"Have a clue how to get your motor running?" Cassie interjects helpfully, and Kurt nearly chokes on his cornflakes.

"I don't think that's appropriate conversation for the breakfast table," Rachel tells her primly, and Cassie shares an amused look with Kurt.

"I thought you two were never going to stop," Kurt informs them mournfully, "I had to re-charge my iPod mid-way through."

Cassie gives him a companionable nudge. "Then go find yourself a hot boyfriend and give us a taste of our own medicine. You do realise New York is full of eligible gay guys who're ripe for the picking, right?"

Kurt looks contemplative. "I know. It's just..." he hesitates, staring forlornly into his bowl of cereal, and Cassie levels him with a knowing smile.

"Oh, I get it. You're still living off Ambien and _The Notebook_?"

Kurt sighs, nodding his agreement. "Maybe I should start upping my dosage before you come over. Then I might get a decent night's sleep."

Cassie rolls her eyes. "Look, if your virgin ears are that offended, I'll buy you some ear plugs, OK?"

"Good - because you curse like a sailor," he retorts, but he's clearly struggling not to smile, "_And_ take blasphemy to a whole new level."

"Well, what can I say?" Cassie pulls Rachel onto her lap, smiling up at her when Schwimmer loops an arm around her shoulders, "I've always had impulse control issues where your roommate's concerned."

Kurt throws them a look of mock disgust, hastily pushing back his chair.

"I'm calling first dibs on the shower, before you two decide to start fornicating in there, too."

Cassie wiggles her fingers at him, and Kurt throws her a pointed look that suggests he knows exactly where they've been.

Rachel waits until Kurt's out of the room, and then buries her face in Cassie's shoulder.

"That was so embarrassing," she laments, and Cassie gives her a fortifying squeeze.

"He'll get over it," she assures her, "Once he stops picturing you in all kinds of compromising positions, anyway."

Rachel groans, pulling a face. "We should have just waited until we were back at your place."

"Oh, really? Because that's not what you said last night," Cassie reminds her, with a rakish grin. Rachel doesn't look amused, so she holds up her hands in surrender.

"OK, OK!" she protests, "I'm sorry I made you come so hard you woke up half the neighbourhood!"

Cassie braces herself for another tirade, but she's saved by the bell when Schwimmer's cell phone starts ringing.

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut when she glances down at the screen, and Cassie raises an amused eyebrow when she sighs resignedly.

"Hi, Daddy!" Rachel exclaims cheerfully, batting Cassie's hands away from her thighs and hastily jumping off her lap. Cassie smirks at her obvious discomfort, but she decides to play nice instead of making things even more awkward for her.

"Yes, I'm fine. Never better, actually," Rachel says, catching Cassie's eye and levelling her with a heart-melting smile. "No, of course I haven't been avoiding you!" she assures him, biting her lip. "I've just been busy, that's all. You know, with school and... stuff. I miss you both so much, though."

Cassie listens to Rachel fend off a barrage of questions, and she nearly swallows a whole chunk of her apple when Rachel indignantly exclaims - "Pregnant? Oh my God, _no_. Why would you even think that?"

Cassie clamps a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, but her smile rapidly fades when she sees the guilt-ridden expression on Schwimmer's face. She's clearly doing her level best to keep her parents in the dark about their relationship without actually lying to them, but Cassie can see how much she's itching to tell them the truth. Cassie's stomach twists into a painful knot as she imagines how the Berrys are going to react when they find out that their daughter is dating her former teacher; who's fourteen years older than her, with no real career prospects and a penchant for 100-proof liquor. Still, at least they won't have a problem with the gay thing - unless they were hoping for a brood of grandchildren, in which case, Cassie's shit out of luck.

"I'm sorry," she says, softly, when Rachel finally gets off the phone, "I know how close you are to them..." she trails off, because she doesn't really know what to suggest.

"I want to tell them so badly," Rachel blurts out, confirming Cassie's suspicions, "But only if you're ready," she concludes anxiously.

"I don't know, Schwimmer. I'm not sure if I like the idea of them chasing after me with pitchforks."

"Well... as long as you don't go running for the hills..." Rachel counters, but her smile looks a little strained.

"I'm not going anywhere," Cassie asserts emphatically, but the churning in her stomach is only getting worse.

"They've always been so supportive of me, I can't imagine them having an adverse reaction," Rachel assures her, like the beacon of hope she is, "But even if they do, it's not going to change how I feel about you."

"Are you sure about that?" Cassie asks her lightly, gathering up their bowls and heading towards the sink so Rachel won't be able to see the fear in her eyes.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," Rachel tells her firmly.

"So, how exactly do you plan on breaking it to them?" Cassie asks her, hastily rinsing off the dishes, "Hey, Daddy, I just wanted to drop you a line and let you know that the Republican Party was right all along - gay parents really _do_ breed gay kids! Also, I'm banging that chick you met on New Year's Eve. You know, the one who used to be my teacher? But it's totally fine, because she got fired for bullying a girl to the brink of death, so it's not like we're breaking any rules here. And I know she's a lot older than me, but I swear she's not a paedophile."

"No!" Rachel protests, and she looks torn between amusement and horror, "I'm going to tell them that I'm dating a woman who's incredibly talented - not to mention beautiful - and that it's possible I may love her even more than Barbra Streisand."

"Well, I'm touched, Schwimmer, but if you tell them that, they're probably going to think you've been brainwashed," Cassie says, with a wry smile.

"Actually, I think I'm finally starting to see the light," Rachel informs her, and her expression is suddenly serious. "I spent my last year of high school putting my dreams on hold so Finn would feel better about himself, and I didn't even realise how miserable he was making me, or how much I'd changed to accommodate him."

Cassie's brow furrows. "You don't strike me as the type to bend to anyone's will, Schwimmer."

"I'm not," Rachel reassures her, "But when I thought NYADA wasn't an option for me anymore, I kind of lost my way for a while. My Dads tried to stop me from marrying Finn, but it was _you_ who made me snap out of my funk and remember why I never wanted to settle for second best. You made me feel like _me_ again; you made me remember why performing was always the thing I loved the most, because watching you was like having front-row seats to the best show in town."

For several moments, Cassie can't speak. All of her energy is focussed on willing back the tears that are pooling in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. She reaches for the dish towel, drying off her hands before she turns around.

"Oh, Schwimmer, you poor, deluded soul," she says softly, cradling Rachel's face tenderly in her palms.

"I can't guarantee that my Dads are going to be thrilled about this, but I know they'll come around eventually, because this... this is the happiest I've ever been."

"OK, sack what I just said. I think your parents are gonna _love_ me," Cassie proclaims with a new-found confidence, and Rachel bursts out laughing.

"They certainly seemed to enjoy your company on New Year's Eve," she reminds her, resting her head against Cassie's shoulder. "It's Spring Break in a few weeks, and I was thinking maybe... maybe we could fly out to Ohio and tell them in person?"

"Can't you just update your relationship status on Facebook, or something?" Cassie asks her sardonically, but Rachel crosses her arms and pouts until she finds herself wavering.

"I don't do planes, Schwimmer. So unless you want me to get reacquainted with your Dads when I'm drunk off my ass and doped up on Valium, it's probably better if we drive."

"But it'll take us a whole day to get there if we rent a car, and the flight only takes an hour and a half," Rachel points out, and Cassie retrieves her purse from the sofa, tossing Rachel a set of car keys.

"We don't have to rent," she informs her, "I've got a perfectly good Mazda MX-5 sitting in the storage lot at the back of my street. I probably should have sold it when I moved to the city, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it."

"So we're going on a road trip?" Rachel asks her, and she looks like she's going to burst with excitement.

Cassie gives her an indulgent smile. "Just don't make me live to regret it, OK?"

Rachel claps her hands delightedly. "I'm going to start putting some playlists together. Britney's a must, of course," she hastens to add, and Cassie glances towards the heavens in exasperation.

"Schwimmer, what part of 'don't make me live to regret it,' didn't you understand?" she retorts, but she can't help but grin. Six months ago, an enema would have sounded more appealing than the prospect of spending nine consecutive hours with Rachel Berry, but now, she's almost looking forward to it.

* * *

Cassie helps Rachel (and Kurt) study for their mid-terms by preparing a bunch of flash cards for them, and Schwimmer seems thrilled to discover that she has the brains to match her beauty, or as Schwimmer puts it: _"your writing may border on being illegible, but your spelling and grammar is impeccable." _Of course, it helps that she also has a wealth of inside knowledge about the kind of questions faculty members like to throw at unsuspecting freshmen. Truth be told, Cassie's only sticking around so she can pounce on Schwimmer when she finally decides to take a break, but when Rachel proudly presents her with her report card and she sees a 4.0 GPA staring back at her, she can't help but feel stoked. Well, for the most part, anyway.

"Carmen gave you a commendation," she observes through gritted teeth, and Rachel regards her inquisitively, "She never gives _anyone_ a commendation."

"Not even you?" Rachel asks her, and Cassie glares at her, pursing her lips.

"Shut up, Schwimmer."

Rachel's smug smile gets impossibly wider, and Cassie scrunches up her nose when she sees the inflated marks she attained in Dance 101.

"And Dumont must be a pushover, because I sure as hell wouldn't have given you an 'A,'" she gripes, and Rachel regards her as though she's been mortally wounded. She looks so hurt, Cassie feels compelled to preserve her feelings.

"I would have given you an 'A +'" she adds smoothly, and she can see Kurt's shoulders shaking with laughter when he hastily looks away. "_For effort,_" she adds, under her breath, while Rachel's busy tidying the kitchen.

The next day, she presents Schwimmer with a lavish bouquet of flowers, which are more extravagant than she can really afford, but Schwimmer's tearful reaction is so heart-warming, she doesn't care that she'll be scrimping and saving to make this month's rent. Rachel spends ten whole minutes clutching her heart and gushing over the arrangement, and then she kisses Cassie so passionately, Cassie runs her tongue over her teeth to make sure they're all still where they're supposed to be.

"At least your Dads can't accuse me of ruining your grades," she says, lifting Rachel clean off the floor and hugging her tightly. "You did good, Schwimmer."

Kurt arrives in the kitchen to see what all the commotion is about, and sighs when he clocks the flowers on the table.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" he asks Cassie plaintively, and Cassie levels him with a wicked grin.

"Sorry, Twinkle Toes, I don't think I've got the right anatomy. Maybe you should ask Bruce to go steady and invest in a butt plug instead."

"Cassie!" Rachel exclaims, looking horrified, but Kurt has always been appreciative of her snark, and he smiles unperturbedly.

"You know what? As soon as you two hit the open road, that's exactly what I'm planning to do."

Rachel covers her face with her hands, clearly suffering the effects of being exposed to too much information, but Cassie cackles her approval.

"Well, have fun," she says, levelling him with a mischievous wink.

"Oh, I will," he assures her, "You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet, instead of waking up to the sound of you singing 'Oh, What A Night' and 'Your Sex Is On Fire.'"

"Don't pretend you're not going to miss us," Rachel chastises him, and he offers them a begrudging grin.

"Maybe a little," he concedes, pulling Rachel into a light hug. "I just hope everything goes OK at Chez Berry."

"From your lips to God's ears," Cassie says wryly, feeling that familiar pang of anxiety when she imagines Schwimmer's parents interrogating her. Still, she can't put this off forever, and the moment of reckoning has finally arrived.

* * *

When Rachel first lays eyes on her convertible, she actually _squeals_, reverently running her hands over the hood and cooing over the leather interior.

"Everyone in Lima drives an SUV. I've never been in a sports car before," she informs Cassie, and she's practically vibrating with excitement.

"It's not like it's a Lamborghini."

"But it's so _you_," Rachel observes, giggling as she casts an eye over the fire-engine-red exterior.

"Sleek and sexy," Cassie drawls, reaching for Rachel's over-stuffed suitcase.

"God Almighty, Schwimmer, did you try and fit your entire closet in here?"

"Well, it _has_ been unseasonably warm lately, so I wanted to prepare for every eventuality."

"Including the apocalypse?" Cassie snipes, but Rachel just smiles sweetly at her, so she hefts the suitcase into the trunk and tries to make room for her own bag, along with the ice cooler that appears to be housing enough food to feed a third-world country. She waves her key chain in the general vicinity of the car, disengaging the lock, and Rachel jumps up and down before settling into the passenger seat.

"Oh, wow, the seats are so low!" she exclaims, and Cassie can't help but smile.

"Yeah, well, enjoy the sensation of your legs actually touching the floor for once, short-ass."

She slams shut the trunk, checks her front door one last time, and then climbs elegantly into the car, rolling her eyes when she sees Rachel pulling a stack of re-writable CDs out of her travel bag.

"You're just waiting for me to roll the top down and start singing 'Born To Be Wild,' aren't you?" Cassie teases, and Rachel giggles, nodding enthusiastically.

"I've always wanted to do the whole Thelma and Louise thing. Well, minus the suicide pact, of course."

"Well, I wouldn't rule that out just yet. Your Dads might push me over the edge."

Rachel slaps her lightly on the thigh. "It's going to be fine," she assures her, but Cassie's still trying to convince herself.

She fishes her sunglasses out of the glove compartment, turning her face towards the morning sun, and it's definitely starting to feel like Spring is in the air.

"OK, let's get this show on the road," she proclaims, gunning the engine, but when she turns to smile at Rachel, she realises that Schwimmer is just kind of... staring at her.

"What?" she demands, and Rachel seems to snap out of her reverie, shaking her head with a rueful smile.

"Nothing. I'm just... trying to figure out how I got this lucky, that's all," she confesses quietly. "You're so beautiful, sometimes my stomach gets tied up in knots just looking at you."

Cassie's heart clenches a little at that.

"Hey," she says softly, reaching out to stroke her thumb over Rachel's cheek, "I'm the lucky one, OK?"

Rachel ducks her head, blushing, but it's clear from her expression that she doesn't really believe it.

Cassie pats her lightly on the knee, heaving a long-suffering sigh as she gestures towards the CD player.

"Go on then, Schwimmer. Do your worst."

Five minutes later, they're edging their way through the early morning traffic with The Proclaimers' _'500 Miles'_ blaring from the speakers, and they're both singing along at the top of their lungs. Cassie takes her eyes off the road for a second, sneaking a glance at Rachel, only to find Schwimmer beaming back at her with a cheek-splitting smile.

Cassie's grin gets even wider, and she starts to feel like maybe she's not on the Highway to Hell, after all.

* * *

A few hours later, they finally come off the grid-locked interstate and hit a patch of open road, where they're surrounded by nothing but fields and farm animals. Cassie takes a sweeping look around at the verdant landscape, and impulsively hits the switch for the retractable roof. The breeze still has a bit of a bite to it, but the sun is a lot warmer that she anticipated, and she shakes her hair loose, sucking in a deep breath of the freshest air she's inhaled in a long time. Then she presses her foot against the gas pedal, going from 40 to 70 in the blink of an eye, and Rachel shrieks with delight, laughing hysterically as she's subjected to the breath-taking G-force. The stereo is barely audible over the rush of the wind, so Cassie cranks up the volume, and when The Cranberries' 'Dreams' starts playing, she heaves a contented sigh, letting the soaring melody wash over her. It feels strangely reminiscent of the rush she used to get from performing, and she can't remember the last time she felt this buzzed without the aid of alcohol.

"THIS IS AMAZING!" Schwimmer practically screams, echoing her sentiments, and clearly she's feeling pretty high on life, too.

Cassie grins, pretending not to hear her.

"I SAID, 'THIS IS AMAZING,'" Rachel yells again, and Cassie dissolves into fits of laughter. With the car locked in fifth gear, she reaches for Schwimmer's hand, threading their fingers together, and she doesn't let go until Rachel cranes her neck, pointing to a nearby field.

"LAMBS!" she exclaims excitedly, and when Cassie sees her enamoured expression, she sighs, hitting the brake and pulling over to the side of the road.

"Oh my God, look at them. Aren't they adorable?" Rachel gushes, leaping out of the car and then cautiously approaching the fence to get a closer look. The lambs clearly have better ideas, though, and they scatter in the opposite direction. Cassie has to try not to laugh when she sees the crushed expression on Schwimmer's face, and she uses the opportunity to stretch out her back, tilting her head to the side to work out the kinks in her neck.

Schwimmer plucks the car keys out of the ignition, and Cassie raises an eyebrow when she sets about retrieving the cooler from the trunk.

"You want to eat lunch in a field full of _cow dung_?" she asks incredulously, "Because I'm pretty sure there's a rest stop up the road that has chairs, and cutlery, and _coffee._"

Rachel regards her beseechingly. "Please?" she begs, and Cassie sighs, kicking off her Louis Vuitton flats and replacing them with a pair of sneakers.

"I didn't pull over so we could play Little House on the Prairie," she gripes, but she takes the cooler from Schwimmer, scrutinising their surroundings to make sure there aren't any warning signs about trespassers being shot on sight. It looks like the fields are open access, even though there isn't anyone around for miles (unless you count the cows, but Cassie's trying to give them a wide berth). She straddles the fence and gingerly makes her way through the overgrown grass, finding a spot that's free from any unwelcome surprises, and she has to admit, the view is pretty scenic.

Rachel appears a couple of moments later, and Cassie laughs when she realises she's carrying the blanket they curl up under during movie nights.

"Aw, Schwimmer, you couldn't bear to leave your blankey behind?" Cassie teases her affectionately.

Rachel retaliates by throwing it over her head like she's about to abduct her, and Cassie sputters indignantly.

"Hey! There's no need for violence," she protests, but she's laughing when she shakes out the blanket and sets it on the ground. They flop down on top of it, and Cassie can't help but feel touched when she reaches for the cooler and sees the effort Rachel obviously went to in packing the kind of food she likes. She munches on her feta salad while Schwimmer eats her sandwiches, and even though it's a little chilly, Cassie barely feels the cold.

"Are you sure you don't want to call ahead, instead of springing this on them out of the blue?" she ventures anxiously, but Schwimmer shakes her head.

"Trust me, they'll be so happy to see me, they won't care about the circumstances."

"So I'm just supposed to jump out of the car and shout, 'Surprise?'" Cassie asks, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Don't look so nervous," Rachel cajoles, reaching for her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm _not_ nervous," Cassie lies, avoiding Rachel's amused gaze, "I just don't want this to turn into 'Run, Cassie, Run: The Remix.'"

Rachel's giggle has always been infectious, and Cassie winds up smiling in spite of herself.

"You'll be pleased to know my fathers strictly oppose the right to bear arms," Rachel informs her, "But I can't guarantee that you won't be forced to sit through several of their performances."

"In that case, I think I'd rather take a bullet," Cassie jokes, but she figures she'd better shut up when Rachel narrows her eyes.

She lies back, soaking up the tepid sun, and smiles when Schwimmer nestles into her side, helping to ward off the light breeze. They just lounge there, trading leisurely caresses and listening to the birds sing, until Rachel pulls back a little, propping herself up on her elbow and regarding Cassie intently.

"Thank you for doing this," she says softly, and Cassie reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"_I would do anything for love..."_ she sings, barely managing to keep a straight face, and Rachel straddles her waist, kissing her like she's savouring every last second of it.

"It's going to be so hard, not being able to touch you like this for a whole week," she laments, and Cassie sits up a little straighter.

"Wait, what?" she asks, and Rachel regards her inquisitively.

"Well, we can't have sex when my Dads are right next door," she explains matter-of-factly, and Cassie covers her face with her hands. She wants to point out that this isn't what she signed up for, but she knows this is still a sensitive issue with Schwimmer, so she bites back the urge to say, _"so, __what do you expect me to do? Buy a tent and pitch it at the bottom of the garden?"_

Instead, she glances around the field, making sure there aren't any potential voyeurs, and then turns twinkling eyes in Rachel's direction.

"Hey, Schwimmer," she drawls seductively, "Fancy a roll in the hay?"

* * *

Half an hour later, Cassie collapses on top of Rachel, and her lips curl upwards in a satisfied smile. She presses a kiss against Schwimmer's neck and then slowly withdraws her fingers, and Rachel moans into her shoulder, still shaking from the vestiges of her orgasm. When a cow moos in the background like it's answering some kind of mating call, they both burst out laughing. Cassie kisses Rachel one last time and then helps her to re-position her underwear and button up her pants, but her heart stops beating when she finally pays heed to their surroundings and sees Daisy the cow staring straight back at her.

"Oh, shit," she cusses, clutching Rachel's arm convulsively, and Schwimmer glances up, giggling when she sees the cow grazing a few feet away from them.

Cassie hastily straightens her clothes, running a hand through her dishevelled hair, and then she frantically motions towards Rachel, gesturing for her to stand up. She creeps towards the cooler, careful not to make any sudden movements when she picks it up, and Rachel watches her with barely-concealed amusement.

"Cassie, it's a _cow_, not a bull. It's not going to - "

"Shush!" she hisses urgently, when the cow stops munching on the grass and glances towards them. Rachel abruptly shuts her mouth, but her shoulders are still shaking with mirth.

"Come on," Cassie whispers, canting her head towards the fence. She reaches for Rachel's hand, and sets about beating a hasty retreat. Then she makes the mistake of looking behind her, letting out a squeak of surprise.

"Schwimmer, it's _following_ us," she says hoarsely, but Rachel's too busy laughing at her to care. Cassie speeds up, towing Rachel along behind her, but when the cow starts rapidly gaining on them, she can't take it anymore. She yelps, dropping the cooler and sprinting towards the fence. She practically vaults over it, and when she turns around, she sees Rachel on her knees in the middle of the field, clutching her stomach as she howls with laughter.

"Come on, Schwimmer, get out of there," Cassie yells impatiently, but it takes another minute before Rachel finally manages to stand up. Then she walks over to the cow, and Cassie looks on in faintly-veiled disbelief when she starts _petting_ it under the chin.

"What the hell are you _doing?_ It's not a fucking guinea pig," she hollers, which seems to tickle Rachel's funny bone even more. Rachel eventually picks up the cooler, and takes her merry old time strolling back to the car. Then she takes one look at Cassie, and promptly bursts into uncontrollable laughter again.

Cassie tries really hard to look pissed off, but she knows the fondness she feels for Schwimmer is painted plainly across her face.

"If you don't get a move on, your Dads are going to be tucked up in bed by the time we get there," she snaps, but her attempts to sound terse fail miserably.

Rachel wraps an arm around her waist, kissing her tenderly on the cheek.

"I love you," she says, and her eyes are brimming with affection. Cassie sighs, pulling her into a one-armed hug.

"I love you, too," she capitulates, "But if you repeat a word of this to anyone, I will hunt you down and kill you. Understand?"

Rachel nods sombrely, and Cassie's lips twitch at the corners.

"Oh, and you might want to change your sweater when we stop to use the restroom. You're covered in grass stains."

* * *

"_Knowing me, knowing you..."_

"_A-haaaa,"_ Cassie chips in, lowering her voice a couple of octaves until she sounds like something out of a horror film.

"Stop it!" Rachel protests, swiping at her eyes, which are still streaming in the wake of Cassie's falsetto rendition of _'Walk Like A Man.' _ She takes a minute to regain her composure, and then tries again.

"_Memories..."_

"_Memories,"_ Cassie echoes in her most sinister voice, and Rachel's jaw twitches.

"_Good days..."_

"_Good days..."_

"_Bad days..."_

"_Baaaaad days,"_ Cassie breathes into Rachel's ear in the same ominous whisper, and she bursts out laughing when Schwimmer changes the track in a fit of pique, before turning to look out of the window so Cassie won't see her amusement. They work their way through the rest of ABBA's Greatest Hits, with Cassie drumming her hands against the steering wheel, and by the time they hit the Ohio state border, they've practically sung themselves hoarse.

Cassie pulls up at a rest-stop to walk off the strain of being cooped up in a tiny car for eight hours, and when she peruses a road map to make sure they're on the right route, she wishes she'd invested in a Sat Nav years ago. She's starting to get twitchy, and she knows it's because she's forgotten what it feels like, to actually care what people think of her. She _had_ to stop caring, because it was never anything good.

She squeezes her eyes shut when Rachel's arms inch around her waist, and she rests her hands on top of Schwimmer's, reminding herself why she's doing this.

"We're making good time," Rachel says quietly, "We can afford to take a break, if you want? You must be exhausted."

"No," Cassie counters grimly, and all of her earlier merriment is gone, "Let's just get this over with."

When they pull up outside of the Berry household – which embodies just about every suburban stereotype Cassie can think of - her palms are so sweaty, they're nearly slipping off the steering wheel, and even Rachel's starting to fidget apprehensively.

"You go ahead," Cassie tells her, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, "I'll wait here for now."

Rachel looks like she's about to protest, but she must realise that Cassie needs a moment to collect herself, because she eventually nods her agreement. She squeezes Cassie's arm, and then jumps out of the car, running up the driveway like a kid on recess.

Cassie can't help but smile as she watches Rachel frantically press the buzzer, and she laughs when she sees the expression of sheer joy on her Dads' faces when they come rushing to the door. Schwimmer hurtles into their arms, and even with the roof down and the windows closed, she can hear LeRoy and Hiram's exclamations of delight as they enfold Rachel in a crushing embrace. They're laughing, and crying, and looking at Rachel like she's the most precious thing in the world, and Cassie can't breathe, because the thought of jeopardising that makes her feel sick to the stomach. For one sobering moment, she genuinely considers gunning the engine and driving away from all of this, because she barely remembers what it feels like to be part of a family, and it already seems like she's on the outside looking in. Then Rachel catches her eye, beckoning her over, and getting out of the car is one of the hardest things she's ever done.

Her heart is pounding erratically as she makes her way up the garden path, and LeRoy is already regarding her suspiciously.

"Cassandra," he says, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Well... Rachel's NYADA's biggest asset. I couldn't let her travel unaccompanied," she jokes feebly, and she tries not to flinch when Schwimmer reaches for her hand. Cassie clutches it like it's some kind of lifeline, and steels herself for the fallout.

"Dad; Daddy..." Rachel begins, taking a deep breath, "I want you to take a moment before you react to this news, because I know it's probably going to come as a surprise. Cassie and I are - "

"I knew it!" Hiram exclaims, and Cassie looks on, feeling utterly bewildered, as he points triumphantly at LeRoy, "I _told_ you something was going on."

"It's been so hard, hiding this from you both - " Rachel hastens to interject, but LeRoy cuts her off.

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" he asks Hiram defensively, "I thought she was still hung up on Finn. And she's never expressed an interest in women before."

"Says the man who was all set to elope with Yvonne Jackson until he met me," Hiram counters smugly.

"Yes, well, not all of us boarded the rainbow bus as soon as we were _born_, Hiram."

Rachel stomps her foot, and Cassie has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"Daddy! I didn't come home so you could debate about my sexuality, I came home to tell you that Cassie and I have been dating for a while now, and we're - "

"I swear to God, baby girl, if you tell me that you're about to get married - "

"Oh, God, no!" Cassie exclaims, a little too forcefully, and then she finds herself on the receiving end of two judgemental glares. "I mean, I'm not saying that I _wouldn't_..." she hastens to add, and Rachel whirls around to face her.

"You would?" she asks, breaking into a beautific smile, and Cassie decides to stop talking altogether, burying her face in Schwimmer's shoulder.

"My intentions are at least... eighty-five percent honourable," she eventually mutters, but Rachel's fathers don't seem impressed.

"Rachel, honey, she's your teacher. Didn't you learn anything after what happened with Mr Schuester?" LeRoy asks her gently, but his tone isn't as forgiving when he turns his attention to Cassie. "And you... well, you ought to know better. Aren't there rules against this sort of thing?"

"Yes, there are, but I don't work at NYADA anymore, so it's not an issue," she informs him calmly, but she can't maintain the pretence for long. "And who the hell is Mr Schuester?" she demands, and Rachel's eyes widen. She opens her mouth to respond, but Hiram beats her to it.

"He was the Director of Glee Club. Rachel was smitten with him," Hiram informs her, with a conspiratorial smile.

"When I was a _child_," Rachel hastens to add, clutching Cassie's hand a little tighter.

"He brought her home one night after she turned up unexpectedly at his house," LeRoy continues, undeterred, "And I'm still not sure what happened, because Rachel was too embarrassed to talk about it, but he said something about her... cleaning the bathroom and cooking him dinner?"

"Well, now you come to mention it, that does sound strangely familiar," Cassie observes, narrowing her eyes at Rachel. "And here was me, thinking I was special."

"You are special," Rachel reassures her, with something approaching desperation. She nestles into Cassie's side, and LeRoy and Hiram exchange an amused glance.

"OK, girls, come on inside," Hiram says, holding open the front door for them, and Cassie starts to breathe a little easier, until he stops Rachel in her tracks by gently grasping her shoulder.

"Honey, is that _grass_ in your hair?" he asks, and Cassie stays rooted to the spot, biting her knuckles.

"You told me that you got it all out!" Rachel says, in an accusatory tone, and Cassie looks at her helplessly.

"I thought I did!"

Rachel regards her parents with wide eyes. "I got travel sick and I... I had to lie down for while," she informs them haltingly.

"In a field," Cassie supplies helpfully, but when their eyes lock, she can't hold it together anymore. She bursts out laughing, and Rachel makes a valiant effort not to join in, but soon they're both in stitches.

"And I take it you weren't feeling well, either?" Hiram ventures, plucking a blowball out of Cassie's hair with a knowing smile.

"I guess all of that fresh air was a shock to the system," she demurs.

"Oh, it looks like there was something in the air, all right," Hiram observes, and their laughter starts anew.

"I don't even want to know," LeRoy mutters, and Cassie baulks when he catches her winking at Rachel.

She hastily averts her gaze, focusing on the décor instead, and she smirks when she sees the wall-to-wall photographs of Schwimmer. The house is practically a shrine to her, and Cassie intends to pore over – and ridicule - every last one of those pictures; starting with the one of Schwimmer sitting on a potty wearing a pastel pink tutu.

* * *

"So, how old are you, Cassandra?" Hiram asks her, and Cassie regards him defiantly.

"Thirty-three."

LeRoy lets out a low whistle. "Wow, that's quite the age gap," he observes, and Cassie resists the urge to make a cutting remark about his tendency to state the obvious.

"If it's any consolation, judging from her behaviour in the car on the way over here, her mental age is significantly lower than that," Rachel informs them, and Cassie's mouth falls open in outrage.

"Well, it's funny you should say that, because I had a peek inside your closet earlier, and apparently, you used to dress like you'd stepped straight off the short bus."

Hiram snorts, covering his mouth with his hand, and Rachel glares at him.

"Hey! You're supposed to be on my side," she protests, but she's clearly trying not to laugh, "Don't encourage her."

"So, Cassie, you mentioned that you're not working at NYADA anymore? Is that because you like to sleep with your students, or was there another reason behind your departure?" LeRoy ventures, and Cassie sucks in a sharp breath.

"I made some mistakes," she admits, staring down at her hands, "One of my students took my criticisms a little too personally and she..." Cassie trails off, biting her lip, because she wasn't expecting it to still feel this raw.

"She deprived me of the best teacher I've ever had," Schwimmer interjects softly, reaching for her hand. Cassie manages a shaky smile, brushing her thumb over Rachel's knuckles.

"Well, it didn't seem to do you any harm. Did you show your Dads your midterm results? Straight 'A's," she informs them proudly, mostly just to change the subject, and Rachel beams up at her.

"That's great, honey," LeRoy says warmly. "I'll make your favourite _Latkes_ to celebrate."

"But Cassie doesn't eat - "

"It's fine," Cassie assures her, even though she doesn't have a clue what she's agreeing to.

Rachel's expression softens, and Cassie prays that being polite isn't going to involve forcing down a never-ending procession of hearty Jewish meals.

"Well, I have to say, Cassie, when I told you to take care of my daughter, this isn't exactly what I had in mind," LeRoy says bluntly, glancing back and forth between them, and Cassie tries not to look like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"I realise that," she says wryly, looking down at Rachel, "And believe me, I tried to keep my distance, but your daughter's not very good at taking 'no' for an answer."

She smiles at Schwimmer to take the sting out of her words, and Rachel shifts a little closer, snuggling into her shoulder.

"So what are you saying? That she coerced you into coming here?" LeRoy asks her, and Cassie wonders if Rachel would forgive her if she punched him in the face.

"No," she counters, trying to keep her voice level, "I'm here because I love her," she concludes simply.

"She did just spend _nine hours_ in a car with her, LeRoy," Hiram points out, and Cassie laughs at Rachel's indignant expression.

* * *

"You have your own _stage_?" Cassie squawks incredulously, "Schwimmer, do you have any idea how obnoxious that is?"

"You're just jealous," Rachel counters, and Cassie grins.

"And you're a spoiled brat."

Feeling significantly better now that they're finally free of Rachel's parents, Cassie grabs a chair and jumps up on stage.

"_Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets,"_ she sings, draping herself over the seat and sending a smouldering look in Rachel's direction, _"And, little man, little Lola wants you." _

She still remembers every step of the routine she perfected for _Damn Yankees_, even though the audience never got to see past the intro, and she dances the choreography as seamlessly – and as suggestively - as she did back then.

"_Make up your mind, to have no regrets..."_ she continues, but her voice breaks on the last syllable and she hastily clears her throat, hugging herself self-consciously. When she finally works up the nerve to meet Rachel's gaze, she realises that Schwimmer's staring up at her with glistening eyes.

"It kills me that you never got to perform," Rachel says, in a tone that's sad and angry at the same time, "You would have been spectacular."

Cassie shrugs, picking up the chair and setting it back down on the floor.

"Don't sweat it, Schwimmer," she says, but Rachel's still looking at her with an expression that makes her feel far too exposed.

"Look, I'm gonna go freshen up, OK?" she tells her, and Rachel nods her agreement.

"OK, but - "

"I'm fine," Cassie reassures her, patting her hand when it comes to rest against her forearm. "I just need a minute, that's all."

She jogs up the basement steps, but she stops in her tracks when she hears LeRoy and Hiram in the midst of a heated discussion.

"So I'm supposed to be _happy_ that our daughter's dating the biggest basket case in Broadway's history?" LeRoy demands, and Cassie feels like she's been punched in the stomach. She grips the banister, holding her breath, and waits for Hiram's response.

"LeRoy, you don't even know her. You can't judge her on the basis of something that happened a lifetime ago. She seems fine now. Besides, weren't you the one gushing over how charming she was on New Year's Eve?"

"That was before I knew she had designs on our daughter. Come on, Hiram, you saw the video," LeRoy protests, "She looked like she was having some kind of psychotic break. They don't call her 'Crazy July' for nothing. Didn't her management have her sectioned, or something?"

Cassie flinches, biting her lip, and it feels like she's suffocating.

"For God's sake, LeRoy, you can't believe everything you read on the internet," Hiram says, clearly trying to placate him. "I, for one, think they're darling together."

"Which is why you're a hopeless romantic, and I'm a realist," LeRoy counters. "I'm telling you now, that woman's going to be nothing but trouble for our daughter."

"LeRoy, please, can't you see how happy she is?" Hiram pleads. "Don't ruin this for her."

"Well, I'm sorry, Hiram, but I'm not going to stand back and watch our little girl throw her life away," he says, with unnerving vehemence. "Not again. She's been through enough already."

It all sounds like white-noise after that, and Cassie tiptoes past the living room, inching her way up the stairs on legs that feel too enervated to support her flagging frame.

She's in the middle of gathering her things together when Rachel appears in the doorway, looking bewildered.

"What are you doing?" she asks her tremulously, and when Cassie whirls around, she can see Rachel's eyes are already teeming with tears.

She just shakes her head, because she knows if she tries to speak, she'll probably wind up crying, too.

"What did they say to you?" Rachel demands, and when Cassie doesn't respond, she storms on to the landing and practically bellows, "Daddy! What did you say to her?"

"Rachel, _Rachel..._ listen to me," Cassie compels, seizing her firmly by the shoulders. "The last thing I want to do is cause a rift between you and your Dads," she says hoarsely, "So I'm just... I'm going to remove myself from the equation, OK?"

"_No,_" Rachel whimpers, and she sounds like her heart's about to break into a million pieces, "Cassie, please don't break up with me. I'll _die._"

"Sweetheart, I'm not breaking up with you." Even though she knows it's only going to make it harder for her to leave, Cassie pulls Rachel into a reassuring hug, squeezing her eyes shut when Rachel clings to her convulsively. "I just want to give your family some space to work things out, that's all. And... don't be mad at your Dads, OK? They only want what's best for you." She swallows around the lump in her throat. "I'll just... I'll see you when you get back."

"You can't drive home. Not now; not like this," Rachel objects, reaching for her hands, "You're shaking."

"I just..." Cassie hastily swipes at her eyes. "I can't be here right now, OK?"

"Then I'm coming with you," Rachel says determinedly, and Cassie looks on in horror as she yanks her suitcase out of the closet.

"What's going on?" LeRoy demands, but he looks concerned as he looms in the doorway.

"Well, apparently, you're incapable of being civil to my girlfriend, so we're leaving," Rachel informs him in a clipped tone.

"You overheard us arguing?" Hiram asks anxiously, and Cassie sucks in a ragged breath, turning to face them.

"Look, it's fine, OK? I get it. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't be all that stoked about her dating me, either. And you're right," she chokes out, turning her attention to LeRoy, "I _was_ a train-wreck. I hated the world and pretty much everything in it, and when Rachel turned up to my class, all bright-eyed and optimistic, I wanted to hate her, too. I wanted to knock her down a couple of pegs and make her as miserable as I was."

"Cassie - " Rachel says quietly, but Cassie shrinks away from her touch, because she knows it won't take much for her to break completely.

"But she wouldn't let me," Cassie concludes, avoiding Rachel's gaze as she hastily pulls on her jacket, "She cut through my defences and saw through all of my cynical bullshit, and she made me remember what it's like to feel actual human emotion. She's the most talented person I've ever met, and trust me, I _know_ I don't deserve her, but when we were driving here today, I realised something."

She takes a deep breath, levelling Rachel with a watery smile.

"I realised that I'm _happy._ All of my dreams have fallen by the wayside and my life's a fucking mess, but for the first time in years, I'm _happy_. And that's... that's all because of your daughter." Cassie purses her lips, willing back the surge of emotion that's threatening to overwhelm her. "So I'm sorry, LeRoy, if I don't meet up to your expectations, but Rachel makes me feel like I'm _living_, instead of just existing, and you can say whatever the hell you want, but I'm not giving her up. Not now, not ever."

Cassie takes a shuddering breath, and when she sees the tears streaming down Rachel's face, she reaches out to tenderly wipe them away.

"Stay here, OK?" she says softly, "Catch up with your friends, have fun, and I'll see you soon." She presses a lingering kiss against Rachel's forehead, and then she reaches for her bag, moving towards the door.

"Cassie, wait."

LeRoy rushes to intercept her, effectively blocking her exit.

"Get out of my way," she says lowly, but her body goes limp when he holds up a hand to stall her.

"You don't have to go," he reassures her, "I know I haven't exactly gone out of my way to make you feel welcome, but I obviously misjudged you and I... I'm sorry, OK?" He rests a hand against her shoulder. "Do you think we can start over?"

It takes a moment, but Cassie nods, dropping her bag to the floor, and she sucks in a sharp breath when LeRoy pulls her into a crushing hug.

"You make her happy, too, you know? I may be an idiot, but even I can see that," he informs her, and Cassie's composure finally crumples. She lets out a hitching sob, burying her face in his shoulder, and he holds her tightly.

"Oh honey, don't cry," he soothes, and Cassie feels hot tears streaming down her face when Rachel crosses the room, wrapping her arms around her waist. Cassie turns into her embrace, and the next thing she knows, she's smack-bang in the middle of a Berry family group hug.


End file.
